


Maker's Match

by Greggles_Lestrade, racalbrecht



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Plot, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angel Mycroft Holmes, Angel Sherlock Holmes, Demon Greg Lestrade, M/M, Not Britpicked, Self-Indulgent, Soulmates, Wing Kink, Wingfic, vampires and werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-03-11 00:25:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 53,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13512918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greggles_Lestrade/pseuds/Greggles_Lestrade, https://archiveofourown.org/users/racalbrecht/pseuds/racalbrecht
Summary: It was all decided in advance: there would be one demon and one angel, if they could survive living together then surely heaven and hell could as well.UPDATE: Chapter 24 is up and it's a good one!





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an RP between myself and racalbrecht. Hope you enjoy! We have a lot of fun writing it!

When Mycroft swore loyalty to the Lord in the beginning of the War, it had been a logical decision: his wants and needs mattered little in a battlefield. He fought in countless battles, blood as dark as the night staining the tips of his feathers so often that he thought that one day, he'll wake up and the red will not merely be a psychosomatic vision and instead a permanent addition to his fair complexion. When Mycroft swore his loyalty, he knew that he signed over his soul - and he carried this knowledge with him when he stepped  into the Room of Peace as an archangel, one of the trusted twelve in Heaven.

The war between heaven and hell had been going on forever it seemed, until one day both sides decided that they should cut their losses and negotiate some sort of peace. It was all decided in advance: there would be one demon and one angel, if they could survive living together then surely heaven and hell could as well. There was more to the treaty of course, and it all would be laid out before the groups in the Room of Peace.

There were selected dignitaries from both sides, archangels mostly made up the side for heaven, and a few of the major demons as well as Lucifer himself (he wouldn't miss this) made up the side for hell. It was Lucifer who decided he was done waiting. "Shall we begin then? If everyone is here?"

"Blood has been shed for centuries past and it is unlikely that bloodshed for an infinite number of centuries in the future will finally determine the winner of our war. Civilization on Earth has suffered through unnecessary pains and has been halted from critical progresses during our war. This war has gone for far too long, and we have finally decided our terms for peace," God said. "We will send an angel and a demon to live together on Earth, to live amongst humans as a part of them. This shall prove that angels and demons can live together in peace. For this purpose, I have chosen an archangel, one of my most trusted confidante, as our representative - and Lucifer will create a demon which will complement the soul I chose completely, as a show of confidence in our treaty."

Lucifer stepped forward in all his flare, dressed completely in black , as were the rest of the demons. “And that I did.” He grinned. “Gregory?” He lifted a hand and a brown haired man stepped forward to stand by his side. Greg looked at the angels curiously, wondering if he could pick out the angel he was paired with.

Mycroft heard the moment his name was called, but his ears felt like they were ringing, his white robes barely moving as he stepped forward, out of his line and away from his brothers. He glanced over to the demon - Gregory, was it? - and schooled his expression to show nothing as he looked back to the rulers of heaven and hell.

Greg looked Mycroft up and down. A ginger, eh? He always liked gingers. Well, at least that's how Lucifer made him, the Devil must of had some clue as to who would be chosen from the angel's side. Greg gave Mycroft a quick wink.

"Shall the festivities commence then?" Lucifer clapped his hands together. "Join hands, you two lovebirds." Greg stepped toward Mycroft, lifting his hands and expecting Mycroft to close the gap between them.

Mycroft caught Gregory's wink and tamped down the blush that was threatening to surface. Of course the Devil chose to create someone with almost-innocent-like brown eyes and such a charming smile. He's always been weak to those. Mycroft shook his head internally and lifted his palms to Gregory's.

Greg grasped the angel's hands firmly in his own. A strange tingly glow started to appear where their hands met. "You know what is expected of you," God announced. "You know what you must do. Let it be so." The light growing in their hands dissipated and the two were left with a tingly sensation in their being, like the light had been absorbed into their souls.

Interested in moving the process along, Lucifer came up behind Greg. "Well, now that that's done, you're connected to each other now with the very essence of your beings. Congratulations. We're gonna throw you down on Earth and see what happens. All good?"

Mycroft swallowed. He doesn't even have time to say goodbye to Sherlock and leave a message for Ariel to look after the cherub for him. He could only suppose she will assume so automatically. "'All good' indeed," Mycroft said, his voice purposefully smooth to cover the cracks his nerves were creating. Suddenly a bright light flooded the entire room and he instinctively brought his arms up to guard his eyes.

When he opened his eyes, he was standing in a foreign room. His white robe replaced with a white shirt, grey vest, black slacks, and dress shoes. He looked up to see Gregory staring right back at him.

"Sudden," Greg said, trying to rub the light out of his eyes. He blinked and looked at Mycroft. "Hello, gorgeous." He grinned.  He was dressed in a similar fashion, but instead of the vest, he was just in a dark grey shirt and suspenders.

"So you're Mycroft? What is it when angels and weird names?"

It seems like this... assignment is going to prove itself to be a bit difficult, considering how Gregory is so prone to flirting (and inciting emotions in Mycroft that he is not going to admit to having, thank you very much).

"Yes. And you are Gregory, I assume," Mycroft lifted an eyebrow, "and as for our 'weird names', as you put it - I believe my Lord simply wishes to set us apart quite distinctly from his creations on Earth."

Greg sauntered forward. "But why? If humans are his greatest creation, why wouldn't you want to be just like them? Why wouldn't 'He' want you to be just like them?" He raised an eyebrow. He liked this angel, not that he had ever met and angel before, much less held a conversation with one, but he'd heard stories.

"I never said that we were His greatest creation, just that He wanted to set us apart," Mycroft looked away in disinterest, "consider it a system, if you will."

It is evident that Gregory is new: his eyes still shine bright, free from the nightmares of war that rarely leave even when he's unconscious; he's approaching _him_ , an archangel, with the sort of careless abandon one would only observe in newborn animals who have yet to learn how the food chain works.

"A system. Right." Greg around the flat where they were placed. "Not that it matters now, you're supposed to fit in with the humans and play house with me." He gave Mycroft a grin, looking him over again. The demon wonder what  button he could press to make the angel unravel.

Mycroft could feel the brunet's eyes on him and purposefully ignored it. "I know what you will try to do," Mycroft started, "Know that I will not be lured by you. I will carry out his mission as my Lord has given to me - but nothing more than civil." A demon is a demon, part of the enemy he's fought for centuries. Mycroft is very aware of their nature and instinct to lie, deceive and pull those unaware into darkness. He will not be one of those unaware.

"Civil." Greg nodded. "Alright I guess, we could of had fun but...if you just want to...do the very 'least' amount of work, I won't stop you." He ambled away to go look at something somewhere behind Mycroft. Of course it was all an act, he figured that Mycroft would never do anything half assed.

Mycroft was a little surprised by how smoothly that went. Maybe Gregory will prove to be an interesting one after all.

Mycroft followed Gregory's lead and started looking around the rooms. After centuries of fighting in a war, playing house just seems so...weirdly domestic.  The room he was transported into had dark red wallpapers, fully furnished with couches, a fireplace, a small coffee table, and a stocked writing desk by the window. He figures the stack of newspapers on the desk are for them to familiarize themselves with Earth matters. Time runs differently here after all - during the short time negotiations were taking place, humans have progressed so much, to the point they were even using steam engines. The room adjacent to it was the kitchen, stocked by things he'd never seen before.

Lucifer had given Greg two instructions before the ceremony: "Be yourself and have fun," and Greg intended to do exactly that. Mycroft was definitely going to be fun to play with, he knew that most of the demons expected this little experiment to fail but Greg was kinda confident. He knew that Mycroft wasn't as unwavering as he thought he was, and Greg was going to play with that advantage to the fullest extent. He might even get the angel to sin. That was the long game, however, and now that he looked down at the humans walking by their window, he knew that he was in for some fun times. They were already so full of sin he could smell it in the air, it would be so easy to just give a little push, cause some mayhem. Oh yes, Greg was going to love it here on Earth.

He decided to go find Mycroft again, to see what he thought of the flat they were going to be co-inhabiting together. He leaned against a nearby wall and watched the angel explore for a little while. "So far so good I think, what do you think of our house?" He asked suddenly, hoping to make the angel at least jump a little in surprise.

"The place is sufficient," Mycroft answered, if a little distractedly. He was still taking in details of the house. He knows this assignment will be a tough one - humans have always had the tendency to drift towards sin, oftentimes pulling others into it, and he felt a sense of trepidation about living in the midst of it. He let his fingertips trail softly on surfaces, picking up bits and pieces of memories and laughter in the house. There used to be a family here, a gentle doctor and his cheerful daughter. Kindness and love tend to stay behind after people leave, and that fact rings true in humans and the things they leave. It gives him hope amidst the pungent smell of sin he could sense coming from outside.

Greg walked up behind Mycroft, particularly close. "Oh yeah? Sufficient. You're a bit middle of the road, aren't you?" He spoke quietly, hoping that his closeness would make the angel at least a bit unnerved. "You feel the _sin_ outside?" He pressed a little bit to the man's back, his hands coming up to the other's hips very gently.

Mycroft felt unnerved first, annoyed second. This demon seems insistent on making him feel uncomfortable. Well, he wasn't called the archangel for nothing. He may not like demons, but they were all angels once - and from his experience he knows that sometimes, demons still have that last bit of angel side left in them. Some has more, some less. "I do," he said, gripping Gregory's wrists, gently but firmly keeping them away from his hips, "Curiously enough, I don't sense as much of it from you. I wonder why?"

Greg paused. What did he mean by that? Of course he was full of sin, Lucifer literally made him to seduce the angel, he couldn't think of anything more sinful than that. "I'm new," he responded, "I haven't had much a chance to sin," Greg pressed his body firmly against Mycroft's back, whispering into his ear. "But I'm willing."

Mycroft could feel tingles and what felt like tiny sparks from his back. It was as if Gregory's touch is causing it. He steeled himself and stepped away from Gregory's almost embrace. He walked over to the window, hoping the light will help calm down his traitorous heart rate. "I believe you would find many people more than willing to fall on their knees for you," he glanced across the road, seeing their life stories in the way they carry themselves, "Perhaps the slums will... satisfy your curiosity." _More than I will ever let myself to,_ he thought to himself.

"Yeah but they're no fun," Greg scoffed, not wanting to think about Mycroft dodging his hug. It stung a bit, he wasn't gonna lie, but he knew that with time he'd fall into the angel's good graces. "And I never said anything about falling on your knees for me, Mycroft." He grinned, "That was an image you conjured up yourself."

Mycroft's blush surfaced faster than he could stop it and he turned bright red. He turned away from Greg's grin to stare at the fireplace, resolutely avoiding the brunet's disarming smile. "Alas. As per instructions, we are to live as humans whilst we are on Earth - and I believe that entails finding a job, fitting in with the society and the like. The people around us have had their memories altered, of course, so we need not explain too much."

Greg grimaced at the thought. "I don't think we really _need_ to work, do we? Can't we just be unemployed bachelor's?" He paused, "Huh, I guess bachelors isn't really the word to describe us, is it? Companions? I think that downplays what we mean to one another. Husbands? Isn't that a word that the humans use?"

"I believe that considering current societal norms, it will be more appropriate to use  the term 'partners'," Mycroft picked up the first newspapers on top of the stack, "It is sufficiently ambiguous for our purposes, if we are to blend in. As for work - one can hardly think it is possible for us to conjure enough money to live in London out of nothing, considering we are not sons of some nobility." Mycroft gave Greg's grimace a small smile. "We don't have to decide right now, after all today is just our first day."

"Right." Greg pushed his hands in his pockets. "We could always rob a bank or two." He started smiling again. "Get a bit of a rush, I promise you'll like it once you've tried it. Or we can con some people on the street? Or mug them? That sounds like it'd get us more cash than working. Besides, who are they to us? They're just some puny humans..."

Mycroft's smile disappeared and he resisted the urge to glare. He sat down on one side of the couch. "Those kind of activities will be boring to you after the third, fourth time. I'd suggest you find something a little more long-lasting, considering we'll be here for a while. Build a career, if you will."

"Hm. A criminal career you say?" Greg went to sit close to him on the couch. "That's a great idea, love." He reached his arm out and settled it around Mycroft's shoulders. "And what will you do?"

Mycroft swiftly removed Greg's arm around him without batting an eyelash and folded his arms. "I'll enter the government. I believe I will be of more use in composing nationwide strategies, considering my... skill set."

In turn, Greg moved closer to the angel. "I've heard politicians are the most sinful, even more so than criminals. At least the criminal looks you in the face when they stab you."  He paused. "I don't think you're cut out for dealing with those kinds of people, regardless of your _skillset_."

Mycroft did not flinch from Greg's advance. "Roles are not evil nor good. Humans assign them their connotations. Politicians can be good - when their priorities are set straight, their heart is in the right place, and their moral values are strong. Most of the time, humans fail at keeping these balanced," His eyes turned tired. "Wealth and power corrupt them. They become more and more susceptible to greed, forgetting their beginnings. I intend to fix that."

"And you won't fail like they do, is that it?" Greg tilted his head to the side and looked at Mycroft. "Well, if you're going to be a politician, I better go into something to suit my tastes as well. How about law and order. I'll become a detective. At least there'll be enough people to condemn that way." He perked up. "Do they still do public hangings?"

"Failure is not an option." Mycroft said, the familiar words gliding out like it's something he's muttered to himself countless times before. He stopped himself before he gets dragged down into the memory lane. _That's_ definitely something he can do without today. When he heard Greg's idea of going into law enforcement, he felt a little bubble of pride. "I think the police force is a good idea," It will do you good to see what humans are capable of, he thought, "Finding the culprit would be quite easy with your senses, but the hunt to gather evidence will keep you occupied. And yes, they still do public hangings. Those are considered as a public entertainment for some reason that is beyond me."

"Because it's fun. Watching the guilty get what they deserve." Greg said with a shrug. "Besides, who says I'm going to be a _good_ detective? Maybe it's just a good way to cause mayhem and havoc." He grinned. "I think I'll get just as much bad done as you will good. It'll even itself out and it'll be like we've never even been here."

"Perhaps that's a good thing," Mycroft shrugged and leaned back to the couch. "If all I can do is to negate your influences, then I will take it." He looked into Greg's eyes earnestly.

Greg's mouth curled up into a smirk as he looked at Mycroft. "Well, then I promise to do as much harm as you do good. Deal?"

Mycroft frowned. "You are going to try your best in your job," he pointed at Greg's chest, his fingertip gently poking at Greg's shirt-covered chest, "and I will reward you accordingly. Deal?"

Greg looked down at where Mycroft's finger was touching him, then back up to look him in the eyes. "Seal it with a kiss and it's a deal."


	2. Chapter 2

  

> _Mycroft frowned. "You are going to try your best in your job," he pointed at Greg's chest, his fingertip gently poking at Greg's shirt-covered chest, "and I will reward you accordingly. Deal?"_
> 
> _Greg looked down at where Mycroft's finger was touching him, then back up to look him in the eyes. "Seal it with a kiss and it's a deal."_

 

Mycroft tamped down his blush. He felt apprehensive about kissing someone he had only known for less than a couple of hours, but he needed to have Greg promise him this. His palm flattened against Greg's chest and trailed upwards to his collar. His heart was pounding out of his own chest, he could feel it in his ears as he leaned over and gave Greg a small peck on his cheek. He knew he wouldn't be able to get away with it, but a small part of him wanted to see how Greg reacted. He let a small smile play on his lips.

As Mycroft started to lean back, Greg quickly pressed his lips to the angel's, knowing that he would be too _innocent_ to do it himself. He pulled away with a cheeky grin. "A real kiss, darling, not my rules." He brushed away a strand of hair from Mycroft's forehead that had become unruly. "You have really beautiful eyes, you know?" Although liking the closeness, Greg regrettably pulled away and wandered off to see what interesting things were hidden in the kitchen.

Mycroft outwardly rolled his eyes although he let himself a little smile from the compliment. He willed the blush away and walked over to the kitchen as well, before deciding to stand by the door and watch what the demon was going to do next.

Greg started to explore what was in each of the cupboards and drawers, eventually finding a tea kettle, some English breakfast, and some cups. "Tea?" He asked, turning to acknowledge Mycroft who he knew had been standing in the doorway for some time. "You do have tea in heaven right? Or is that too much of an indulgence for you?"

Mycroft chuckled. "Of course we have tea. That would be lovely, thank you." He walked over to the cupboards above the sink that Greg hadn't opened yet, finding labeled tins of various condiments and foodstuffs. "It seems that they were very...thorough," he said, impressed.

"What? I thought all angels were anal retentive." Greg said innocently as he set the kettle on to boil. "At least we don't have to worry about food for a while. Do we pay rent? We could probably... _persuade_ the landlord to forego our rent." He paused, "Or, rather, _I_ could persuade our landlord to forego rent, you can stand by and...do whatever it is you angels do."

Mycroft gave Greg a look. "We'll pay the rent, just like everyone else. They've set up bank accounts for us, might as well use it." He sat down on one of the chairs. "And I do plenty, mainly keeping humans away from you lot - when I'm not occupied by the war, that is."

Greg's eyes lit up. "Bank accounts? Any money in them?" He didn't expect the angel to answer. "The war. Fortunately I missed that bit." He waved his hand nonchalantly in the air. "If this whole thing doesn't work out though...I suppose I'll get a taste of the action, eh?" Greg had heard horror stories about the war, of course every story in hell was a horror story. "Besides, weren't you just telling me to go down to the slums to find people to kneel for me. You weren't very good at your job were you, angel?"

Mycroft didn't rise at the challenge. He simply tangled his hands together and rested his chin on them. "You'll find that there is little humans will not do to get out of an unfortunate circumstances," Mycroft closed his eyes, his voice careful. "We are not allowed to interfere in any major way, and for a lot of them... they have gone too far."

Greg looked back at him. "What about you? What would you do to get out of this _unfortunate circumstance_?" The kettle whistled as the water boiled. Greg turned to take it off the heat, leaving the question up in the air.

Mycroft walked over to the cupboards with cups and set them near Greg. He took a step back to get out of the way and leaned back on the dining table. "I never said this is an unfortunate circumstance."

Greg started to pour the tea. "Oh? So you want to be here right now?" He looked back at Mycroft as he poured. "You wouldn't want anyone else, literally anyone else in your position right now?"

"He has his reasons, I believe. And it was nice to know that He trusts me enough to do this," Mycroft shrugged. "Also, it's a nice change of pace." And I would have never met you if someone else was assigned in my stead, he thought.

"A change of pace it definitely is." Greg nodded, adding milk and sugar to his tea. "Not that I would know. You know it's weird just being...brought into existence. Milk? Sugar?"

"A splash of milk would be lovely. Thank you, Gregory." Mycroft smiled earnestly, his fingers brushing against Greg's slightly as he accepted his cup.

Greg gave him a smile as he went to sit at the table with his cup. "So do you honestly think this is going to work out?" He sipped his tea. "I'm giving you a break now, I'll be back at it again in a little bit."

"Back at...what?" Mycroft frowned, sitting across Greg. "If you are my soulmate as they said, regardless of my feelings, this will eventually 'work.' I don't know how or when we will get there, but I have faith that it will happen... And I am willing to put the effort."

"It. Everything. Me trying to prod you towards sin." Greg smiled. "It's just a bit of fun. I mean if you're my soulmate you're already just a little more towards the side of sin, just think of it as an inevitable conclusion." He shrugged.

"By the same logic, you're also already leaning a little bit towards the good," Mycroft said easily, "it's, as you said, an inevitable conclusion."

Greg's face broke out into a slow grin. "I suppose." A knock on the door interrupted anything else he was going to say. "Expecting anyone?" He looked at the angel.

Mycroft slightly frowned, but gracefully stood up and walked over to the front door. He opened to see a cheerful older lady, a tray of biscuits in her hands. "Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes. I'm Mrs Hudson, the landlady. I've been informed about your arrival today, I hope the place is adequate. I will be your point of contact should you require any help with societal norms, nuances and the like you may miss," she smiled. "Biscuits, gentlemen?"

Greg followed Mycroft to the door. He smiled charmingly at the old woman, he couldn't get a read on her. "I'm a sucker for biscuits, ma'am." He took the plate from her. "And the place is just great, really it is, thank you, we couldn't have had a better landlady."

Mrs Hudson smiled. "I'm pleased to hear that. There are two bedrooms, they are just up the stairs. That is, if you'll be needing two," she winked. "I just live downstairs, if you ever find yourself in doubt or at a loss, feel free to visit this old lonely lady."

"Oh, I don't think we'll be needing two," Greg grinned at her assumption, giving a gentle nudge to Mycroft. "Thanks for the biscuits again, we'll return the plate when we're done."

Mycroft was torn between a glare and a blush, unable to say a retort to that in front of company, and chose to put on a polite smile instead. They said their goodbyes as Mrs Hudson returned downstairs, gushing a little about young love as she made her way down. "I'm not sharing a bed with you," he said once they closed the door.

Greg laughed as he went back into the kitchen, plate of biscuits in hand. He sat back down at the table and took a biscuit for himself, dunking it into his tea and taking a bite. He didn't say a word in response to Mycroft, knowing that actions speak louder than words and bedtime was right around the corner.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at the lack of actual response from Greg and took a biscuit for himself. He lifted an eyebrow slightly when Greg dipped his biscuit in tea. He'd never seen anyone do that before. He dipped it in his tea like he saw Greg did, but he left it in too long and a part of the biscuit crumbled off into the cup.

Greg snorted at Mycroft had just done. "You're precious."  He looked at him and took another bite out of his biscuit. "Apparently it's an acquired skill they don't teach in heaven."

"Even if I did learn it, I probably deleted it," Mycroft shrugged. "Swords skills were more important than biscuit dipping, then."

"Deleted it?" Greg asked, dipping his biscuit again and stuffing the rest in his mouth. "What?" His mouth was full so it came out more as a "Wot?"

Mycroft frowned at Greg speaking with his mouth full. "The information was not important enough to be retained, so I discarded it."

Greg chewed what was in his mouth and swallowed it down.  He looked around, not sure what Mycroft meant by _discarded it_. "Al...right." He grabbed another biscuit from the plate.

Mycroft caught Greg's uncertain look and tried to elaborate, "Another way to think of it is like discarding old things to make space for new ones." He closed his palms around his cup, feeling its warmth. "I... selectively forget things, so I can remember more important matters."

Greg gave him a look, "If everybody did that we'd have people out there forgetting how to lace up their shoes." He took a big bite of biscuit, crumbs falling on the table. "Besides," He licked his lips, "Is it really worth the two seconds of memory that you forget?"

"It's not a problem," Mycroft shrugged. "I could use it for two seconds of sword fight."

"Dunno, just think it's kinda stupid if you ask me." Greg shrugged and stuffed the rest of the biscuit in his mouth. "But what do I know," he said but it came out as, "Buh wotto I nuh."

"When you live long enough, maybe." Mycroft chuckled and rose from his seat. "I'm going to read the paper for a bit, prepare for bed and then sleep. I'm taking one of the bedrooms, you can take the other."

"Aye aye." Greg gave him a lackluster salute as he grabbed up his tea and took a sip. "Good night," he said over the rim of his cup, watching the other man. "Sleep well."

Mycroft put down the cup he just washed to dry on the side and headed out of the kitchen.  He took some of the papers from the writing desk and stopped by the doorway. "Good night, Gregory."

Greg smiled sweetly at the angel, which should have tipped him off that the demon had something nefarious planned for later that night.

Mycroft headed upstairs and chose the first bedroom he opened. The room was navy blue, a color that reminded him of the ocean at night he used to stare at from heaven. The color used to soothe him when he couldn't sleep for fear of the nightmares that haunt him, and even now it settled his nerves as he's unsure of the the days to come. He prepared for bed and washed his face. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked quite young - around the age of someone who has spent two decades on Earth, perhaps a little bit more? He ran his fingers through his ginger hair, ruffling it from its usually neat state. He needed to create a backstory as well, but that’s simple enough to do tomorrow.

The bed was quite wide - large enough to fit two. He sat on the edge of it and unfurled his wings from the ether. His wings gave off a soft glow in the dark for a moment, and his feather tips touch the other end of the bed. They're large - fitting for an archangel - but flexible. Hiding them took no effort, but their presence gave him a sense of comfort and protection. He folded them closer to himself and sat by the iron headboard, propped up by a pillow. He skimmed through the papers before putting them away and settling down, resting his wings behind him and closing his eyes.

Greg finished up his tea and put the cup in the sink, not bothering to wash it like Mycroft did his. He wandered out of the kitchen and found a seat by a window in the living room, watching the people outside go about their sinful lives. Anyone awake and out at that hour _had_ to be up to something, he reasoned. He watched them and tried to guess what they were doing. Drunk with a prostitute, that one was easy.  Drug dealer. Drunk. Drunk. Murderer. Oh, Greg watched that one with interest as the man walked down the street.

As soon as the murderer had left his sight, Greg jumped up. It was now nearing midnight and he had a plan to enact. He quickly toed off his shoes and pushed off his suspenders. He thought briefly about taking off his trousers entirely, but he didn't want to spook the angel _that_ much. If Mycroft was....receptive of his advances, then the trousers would come off.

Greg snuck silently into the room that Mycroft had chosen and slid into bed behind him.

Mycroft's wings reacted before the man was alert himself. They shoved an unexpected presence behind him off the bed and curled around him protectively, as if _offended_.

Greg was pushed off the bed and onto the floor with a yelp. He was sprawled on the floor, blinking and trying to figure out what had just happened. Also those wings were _soft_.

Mycroft blinked awake as soon as he heard the _whump_ in his room. For a split second he thought it was an intruder, before his senses told him that it's Greg. He sat up cautiously. "What are you doing?"

"I was, um, going to bed?" Greg sat up, a little dizzy from his sudden fall. He looked over at Mycroft. "Those are some wings you got."

Mycroft was in no state to argue with Greg tonight. "Just take the other room," he burrowed himself deeper into the sheets, his wings slightly spread behind him.

Greg scoffed. "Not much of a cuddler then?" He stood and brushed himself off. He hovered his hand over the really soft looking feathers of Mycroft's wings --even in the dark they looked so soft--but decided against touching them, at least for tonight. "Night then." He wandered out of the room.

Mycroft could feel Greg's hovering over his wings and half expected for him to touch them, before hearing the door shut. He closed his eyes and slipped into a fitful sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

_He was running. His cheek was streaked with blood - red, iron, too much like a human - and his wings incapable of flight at its battered state. His brothers were gone. He kept what remained of their souls within his folded arms. Scorched grounds burnt at his feet, and he couldn't see where he was going. He kept running._

Mycroft woke the next morning with a slight jolt. Sunlight was streaming into his room through a space between his curtains. There was no smoke. No heat. Just sunlight and the slightly stale smell of dust particles in the air. He washed his face and readied himself for the day

Greg, however, was still sleeping soundly. That was, until someone in the street called out loudly. He snorted awake with the intent to kill. What human dare interrupt his sleep? He stalked down the stairs and into the living area, only with his trousers half buttoned up, shirt off. His hair definitely signalled that he had been sleeping soundly, rolling himself all over his bed like a cat marking its territory. "Whazzit?" He looked around, mind still foggy with sleep.

Mycroft looked out from the kitchen to see Greg groggily walking into the living room. He was not a prude - his brothers would often spar with him shirtless - but at least they didn't have their trousers only half buttoned up. He looked just slightly to the side of Greg instead. "Would you like some tea?"

Greg stalked over to the window look out and see if he could find the person who woke him up. Of course they had scattered, the bastards. He turned around, registering that Mycroft had said something. "Huh?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow as he straightened up, stepping a little closer towards Greg. "Tea?"

"What? Tea? Yeah sure. Thanks." He said, still a bit out of it, as he pulled his suspenders up despite not wearing a shirt.

Mycroft turned his back to Greg and put the kettle on. He allowed himself a small, amused private smile. Black tea it is.

Greg walked into the kitchen and grabbed out the plate of biscuits from the fridge. He sat down at the table with it in front of him. Breakfast.

In the same beat Mycroft took the plate of biscuits away. As an exchange he pushed an empty bowl, cornflakes and milk towards Greg. "Eat."

Greg blinked at what he was being given. "No thanks, I'll take the biscuits." He started to stand up in order to take the plate of biscuits back.

Mycroft kept the plate out of Greg's reach. "It was invented by a colonist in the New World. It's supposed to...reduce overactivity in young men, so to speak."

"Overactivity?" Greg scoffed. "What is that supposed to mean? I'm not overactive. Give me the damned biscuits." He reached for them again, he might even go as far as take a step towards Mycroft in the process, but he was still in large part, asleep.

"You are, I assure you." Mycroft stepped backwards. "A good breakfast is the best way to start the day. We have much to accomplish today, after all. You can have some biscuits after."

"Or I could eat the biscuits now." Greg took another step forward, glaring at the angel. "So give me the bloody biscuits and you can eat the..." he looked back at the box of cereal. "Cornflakes."

"Those cornflakes are good for you, I promise." Mycroft took another step backwards, the plate of biscuits behind him. " Surely having both is better than just one? "

"Then you eat them," He took another step toward Mycroft. "I want the biscuits. Now, Mycroft." He growled deeply. He didn't have time for this, he had just gotten to sleep maybe an hour or two ago and some jackass in the street woke him up and now Mycroft was forbidding him to have biscuits for breakfast. "Mycroft." Greg took another step toward the angel.

Mycroft sighed. It's better to save this fight for tomorrow then. Bloody biscuits. He handed over the plate to Greg and took the bowl away.

Greg grinned. "Thank you." He took the plate of biscuits and went to sit down at the table. "That wasn't so hard was it?"

Mycroft didn't deign it with a reply, he simply tended to tea and placed a cup of tea in front of Greg. He sat across Greg and drank his own tea.  
Greg dunked a biscuit in his tea like he did last night, taking a bite with a smile. "Hmm, we should get whats-her-face downstairs to make us some more of these. Although I might be the one to ask her, she seems to like me more than you." He winked at Mycroft across the table.

"That's because you're an incorrigible flirt," Mycroft calmly spoke, "And if you observed her closely yesterday, I would say she is completely neutral. As hard to believe as it is."

Greg nodded agreeing with Mycroft fully. "Yeah I couldn't get a read on her either." He made a face. "Nothing a bit of flirting, like you said, won't fix."

Mycroft sighed. "Please refrain from flirting with our landlady, I would rather not look for a new place to live when that reaches its natural conclusion."

"And what do you think the natural conclusion of flirting is, Mr. Angel?" Greg grinned. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna shag the old woman, although I'm sure she'd love it. She's not my type. I'm more into...gingers."

"You seem to be capable in coming up with conclusions on your own, Mr. Demon." Mycroft raised his eyebrow at him. "And I do not care who you fornicate with. As long as you refrain from involving me with the mess."

Greg smirked at him, although he was a little disappointed. He said nothing more on the subject, sipping his tea and watching Mycroft over the rim of his cup.

"I will start my work in the town hall today, Mrs Hudson passed me the details this morning before you were awake. I am not sure how she managed to listen in to our discussion, but she seems to be aware of your want to go into law too - it might be best for you to meet her and confirm this." Mycroft sipped his tea."I will be back in the evening. Your bank account details are on the desk. We are now on our own, financially speaking, so please use it wisely."

Greg frowned and sat his tea cup down. "Don't we have a chance to settle in or anything? I mean we haven't even gone out and seen how people...work. You think you're gonna pass as human just from half a day on Earth?"

Mycroft looked thoughtful. He was planning to pick up mannerisms as he walked to the town hall, as he is quick on the uptake, but Greg's idea seemed reasonable. It would also allow him to observe more of Greg. "Excuse me for a moment then, I will speak to Mrs Hudson about the change of plans. When shall we go?"

"When what? Where are we going?" It still was early in the morning so Greg wasn't too quick on the uptake. He stuffed the last half of his biscuit into his mouth, he knew he should have stayed in bed.

"Out. Walk around the area, observe human mannerisms and the like." Mycroft smiled a little at Greg's - admittedly adorable - confusion.

"Oh, yeah sure, I doubt anyone would be up during this time though." He downed the rest of his tea. "Nice walk in the park...suppose that means I need to get a shirt on..."

"A shirt would be appropriate, indeed." Mycroft sipped the last of his tea. "Workers would be heading off to their stations right now, and the market will be busy by the time you are completely awake. Excuse me, I'm going to see Mrs Hudson for a moment. "

Greg waved him off as he stood up, walking back up to his bedroom to get on some proper clothes.

Mycroft left to see Mrs Hudson and relayed the change of plans. "It's no bother, dear," Mrs Hudson closed her palms on her chest, "Consider it done. I'm pleased to hear that you are getting along with Gregory. Quite the looker, isn't he?" she winked. Mycroft blinked, chuckled good-naturedly, and thanked her again for her help before leaving to go upstairs.

Greg managed to finish dressing before Mycroft came back from Mrs. Hudson's. He had on the same grey shirt that he had on yesterday, but now with his trousers done up and his shoes on.  Sitting on the couch, he watched out the window at the people down below until Mycroft returned.

Mycroft stood by the doorway, stilled by Greg's rare moment of silence. The light from the window gave his profile a bright, almost ethereal outline. He cleared his throat. "Shall we?"

Greg looked at him for a second. "Yeah." He stood and walked over to where Mycroft was. "Do you want to take an umbrella? Don't want that fair skin to burn, do we?" He smiled.

Mycroft felt a twinge of annoyance that is quickly becoming familiar. "No, thank you. I will manage." he turned and stepped down the stairs, expecting Greg to follow him.

Greg tutted, "Suit yourself." He followed Mycroft down the stairs. "Bye Mrs. Hudson," Greg called out as they passed by her door. "We'll be back later," then under his breath, "don't fall and break a hip."

"I heard that, Gregory dear!" Mrs Hudson called out just before the front door closed. Mycroft looked away as if he was being thoughtful to hide his smirk.

Greg ran his fingers through his hair. "Right, shall we?" He offered Mycroft his arm for some attempt at physical contact with the angel.

"I was thinking that I could make us invisible for the first couple of hours today. I would rather avoid attracting attention to ourselves because we are not at work on a weekday." Mycroft said carefully. "We can remove it after work hours, perhaps a pub?"

"Invisible? Sounds fun. Got any plans on who's house we're gonna sneak in?" Greg asked looking around then looking back at Mycroft. "No use being invisible if we're not going to be naughty, izzit?"

Mycroft gently coaxed a strand of his grace to cover both of them, rendering them invisible to their surroundings. "Behave, please." Mycroft looped Greg's arm around his, as if that would deter the demon from misbehaving. "Anywhere specific you'd like to see first?"

Greg shrugged. "Let's just explore the area first? Maybe find a park and people watch?" He tightened his arm around the other's.  "Just an angel and a demon going for a morning stroll. How quaint."

"Indeed," Mycroft trailed off. He started to lead the way, turning during crossroads now and then. Stray cats would sometimes stop and stare. Dogs were less subtle about them: they would try to yank their chain excitedly so that they could get pets from Mycroft, earning them a smile from the angel and a soft pat that would calm them for the rest of the day.

Greg tried to reach his hand out to pet one of the dogs but was met with a ferocious snarl from the animal. "Alright then, calm down." It kinda hurt his feelings honestly, but he would never show it. While Mycroft was petting the dogs that came their way, Greg took a look at the owners. Mostly men, a few women out on their daily walks as well. Upper middle class. Pride oozed off of a lot of them and Greg sucked it in greedily.

Mycroft noticed Greg's try with the dog, but kept his silence. He also noticed that Greg was sucking in pride from the upper middle class men. Well, might as well work, too, then. He looked at them in earnest. One had a mistress, a childhood friend who became a maid at his household, who had just demanded him to choose between her and his wife, who fit him better in terms of social class. He soothed his sadness, giving him a nudge to hold on to his faith through turbulent times. He reached out to his grace to ameliorate another man's issues with explosive temper, in an effort to save his newborn baby from his fists in the future.

As soon as they were passed the two, Greg spoke up. "Keep doing that, you're not gonna have enough grace to give, angel."

"His sadness was consuming him alive, and I would rather spare the baby from premature death from her own father. Her brilliance will ensure her a bright future one day," Mycroft kept walking. "Also, I can think of no greater honor than dying for what I was created for. The aim of my creation is to save as many humans as possible, after all."

Greg scoffed and rolled his eyes. "But if you don’t save as many people, you can still live on and do good, maybe save even more people." He reasoned. "You can't save _everybody_." He paused. "And what would be the aim of _my_ creation then? Hm? After all I was made for exactly this. For _you_ , you fool, what would happen if you died because you gave away your Grace too quickly? The war would start all over again and I would be the only one alive to bloody blame, that's what."

"The treaty has taken unexpected deaths into account, " Mycroft said. "You will just have a new angel created to the shape of your soul. I imagine you'd like someone with a more agreeable personality than mine."

"I didn't say you weren't agreeable." Greg said and then got angry. "I don't want a new angel. So don't go killin' yourself, Mycroft. I swear I'll..." He looked away, flustered by the very thought of it. The last thing he needed was a suicidal angel on his hands.

"You will... what?" Mycroft frowned. He thought Greg would be happy to have someone easier than he is. "Please be assured that I do have any intention to die that soon. There is no need to worry."

He looked back at Mycroft. "I'll raise hell, is what I'll do. So you better not die at all!" Greg tried to release his arm from Mycroft's in order to storm off in a fit but was having a hard time doing so with the angel's strength working against him.

"Stop being difficult," The angel pulled Greg closer to him forcefully to stop the demon from breaking free. "It is why I wanted to enter the government. Widest reach of effect with minimum grace necessary. I will be able to improve lives from behind the desk. If I get my way, I will live a long life, just as you wish, so stop it."

Greg growled and still tried to squirm away. He stopped, panting slightly. "We're gonna live forever, you and me." He looked Mycroft straight in the eyes. "And you better not say otherwise."

"I shan't." Mycroft assured him. "It might get boring." _I might bore you by perhaps the third decade_ , he thought.

"That's why I'm here, to make sure it doesn't." Greg gave him an unsure grin. "No more talk about it, we're supposed to be _observing_." He turned, standing closer to Mycroft's side as they started to walk again. "You said there was a market close?"

"...Yes. This way," Mycroft started leading them towards the area he remembered from the map. It was only a few roads over, and in no time they were there.

The area they walked into were slightly dimmer, as the sky is partially covered by large plain awnings. Rows and rows of goods are displayed on each stall, some with metallic parts gleaming under lamps to show their luster and some brimming with food. Furnitures and infrastructures were mainly constructed with wood and ropes, but there was also much mechanical engineering prowess on display: engines with steam coming out of it are scattered across the market, each with five functions or even more. It seemed that humans have harnessed the power of steam and combined it with metal to create a force to behold. The market was bustling with people, mostly stay at home mothers out to get the groceries for their households. There were a few gentlemen here and there lingering about but not as many as there were children, running around and clinging onto their mothers and they shopped. 

"Oh." Greg said, as he first saw the scene.

They stood in the middle of the bustle, and yet no one bumped into them. It was as if they were naturally avoiding their vicinity, the stream of people flowing endlessly like a school of fishes. Several housemaids in uniform were bargaining, some gossiping, some with bigger baskets than others. One of the stall owners closest to where they were standing had a mechanic eye, fitted to see antiques in great detail and value; a man carrying large sacks has a mechanic arm, allowing him to lift three times more than others ahead of him; a child flitted by their feet, playing with others her age, a tad bit too young for school. 

Greg watched all the little kids playing around with one another. He pointed one out. "That one right there? A little devil, I'm sure of it. Just wait until he grows up proper." He said just as the child in question pulled another's ear sharply.

"Just like you, I suppose." Mycroft noted in amusement. A young boy had taken it up by himself to push back the child Greg pointed out and stand by his friend. He smiled a little to himself.

"Nah, I woulda gone for his nose." Greg said with a grin and started to pull Mycroft towards a produce stall nearby.

"Heaven forbid you encourage children in their naughtiness," the angel followed along. "Their mothers have enough of a problem as it is." He murmured as he glanced at the fresh fruits available.

"Well, children are much harder to persuade, they either do what you want them to, or they don't." Greg shrugged, grabbing up and apple and tossing it into the air. He caught the fruit and took a bite, looking right at Mycroft as he did it.

Mycroft gave him a little glare, reaching into his pocket and slipping in several coins into the shop owner's pocket discreetly.

Greg scoffed and looked away, shaking his head at the angel doing exactly what he thought he would do.

"You knew what I was going to do, you need not test it," Mycroft pulled Greg away from the stall and towards the next one. It was a confectioner's, with candied citron and white rose and brightly colored sweets in jars, crystallized fruits and jellies and lozenges in neat rows. His eyes lit up slightly. He's always favored sweet things.

"I was hoping you'd might surprise me." He took another bite of the apple in his hand. "Cornflakes not enough breakfast for you? That's not surprising." Greg watched Mycroft's eyes dance over the display of candies.

"You're one to say," he simply said. "One is allowed their rare indulgences." he scoffed.

To answer that, Greg bit into his apple again. "Rare indulgences, what would that be for you?"

"Candied apples. I had them once, when there was a lull in the war and we were allowed to go down to Earth." Mycroft smiled wistfully at the memory. "You?"

Greg hesitated. "Well they aren't really rare for me because I do what I want." He shrugged. "Besides the fact that I was literally just created three days before the ceremony..." he tossed the apple core on the ground.

"I keep forgetting you're only three days old." Mycroft mused to himself. "You're technically still a baby. Also, stop throwing things away where they're not meant to be, or I shall use my grace to get rid of your junk and where will we be then hmm?”

"Are you...holding yourself hostage so I don't throw things on the ground." Greg said shocked. "I must be rubbing off on you." He winked at him. "Besides, if I'm three years old, what does that make you." The demon gave him a look.

Mycroft shrugged. "I learn quickly," he brushed an invisible lint away. "I am a couple of human centuries old, give or take a few. I am, in human years, ancient."

Greg rolled his eyes again, "Not really what I was asking, but alright." He started to pull Mycroft away from the sweets stand.

"It will be a better use of our time if you could pose the question directly, as I can perhaps answer it to the best of my capabilities," the angel scoffed. He made a mental note where the confectioner's was, he suspected that he will be needing to go there again in the future.

"Me explaining it will make it less funny." Greg explained. "You just missed it, which isn't surprising, you angel's aren't really known for your sense of humor after all."

Mycroft slowed down a fraction. "I...would be grateful if you could teach me a little," he looked down. "I...find myself wanting to understand you better, considering our... situation."

Greg looked away with a sigh. "Well...Even though you say our relationship is going to stay...platonic, I still fancy that we're in a romantic relationship, right? And well...if I'm three years old and in a romantic relationship with you, what does that make you?" He looked at Mycroft. "What kinds of people like to be with three year olds and the like? That's the joke."

Mycroft stared at him, his face turning aghast as realization dawned. "You--!"

Greg looked at him and burst out laughing. "Oh gods, your face. Your bloody face."

The angel's face turned scarlet red, his ears were steaming. "I cannot believe you would... joke about such a thing!" he huffed.

Greg was still giggling. "I'm a demon, love, it's what I do."


	4. Chapter 4

  

 

> _Mycroft stared at him, his face turning aghast as realization dawned. "You--!"_
> 
> _Greg looked at him and burst out laughing. "Oh gods, your face. Your bloody face."_
> 
> _The angel's face turned scarlet red, his ears were steaming. "I cannot believe you would... joke about such a thing!" he huffed._
> 
> _Greg was still giggling. "I'm a demon, love, it's what I do."_

 

Mycroft took a deep breath. "If you're quite finished, let's make our way back. We can continue our observations as we walk." He looked away at people, picking up the smell of spices and confectionary and vegetables and raw meat and the tiniest hint of oil underlying everything. He noted people's mechanical replacement, expectedly common in a bustling place like London.

"You're the one to have asked what it was about, I just told you." Greg shrugged as Mycroft led them off back home. "A lot of those...whatsits?" He motioned to the mechanical leg that someone walking toward them had. "It's interesting. I wonder if anyone's made mechanical wings yet..."

"Mechanical replacements. Some requires them due to an accident or some sort, some purely for cosmetic reasons. There was one invention that resembled wings the most," Mycroft hummed. "But unless humans found a way to make themselves lighter, like birds do with their hollowed bones, their dreams of wing flight will not happen anytime soon."

"Hm. So you reckon people cut off body parts in order to get them? In some cases?" Greg asked. "I mean, whack off an arm, you get a new, better one, stronger. I wonder how far humanity'll go."

"They will go far, I believe," Mycroft said thoughtfully. "They are His greatest creations, after all. But the farther they go, the more difficult the moral questions they will have to face. And with the current pace of innovation... I am not sure if they have learnt enough from history to prepare them for their future."

"They'll just destroy themselves and build it all back up again. It's amazing and...stupid. They kill each other and wonder why, when there are people dying in the streets. It's all stupid." Greg shook his head. "I couldn't handle being an angel just because of that. How can you see so much good in things when there's so much bad to counteract it?"

"I have faith in the few golden ones who propels mankind into the future," Mycroft hummed. "It's in my nature to see the silver lining, the potential of each newborn baby - so full of love to give, the love that motivates them and the kindness in their acts, spreading across the city like a wildfire."

Greg faked gagged at the thought. "That's a bit much." He shuddered as they finally made it to their home. "Let's talk about something else, hm?" He grinned as they made it to the front door, "We're still invisible. How about a kiss?"

Mycroft slid his arm out of Greg's hold and poked his nose. "Try harder," he smirked and turned to unlock the door.

"Come on," Greg tried to tug Mycroft back to kiss him but the angel was immovable. "Fine, I'll just save it up, you owe me a kiss though."

"I don't owe you anything, little demon," he opened the door and immediately walked up the stairs.

Greg let out a shocked noise and followed the angel, shutting the front door behind them.

Mycroft reached the top of the stairs and unlocked their door. He walked in to see a teenager - a little young to be even called that, he supposed - with a curiously familiar tuft of black hair, sharp cheekbones and grey-green eyes. His eyes widened slightly. He could recognize that combination anywhere, even though he is more used to see them on someone ten years younger. "Why are you here?"

Greg looked over Mycroft's shoulder, "Who the bloody hell are you?" He glared at the teen, even though he was barely high enough to see over Mycroft's shoulder.

Sherlock was lounging on the couch when the two came in. "Mycroft, is this where you've been? I've been looking all over for you, why are you on Earth, who is this, what has--oh, the ceremony." The teen seemed to answer his own question. He gave a knowing half smile. "How goes it, brother mine?"

"If you remember the ceremony, you would know why I'm on Earth, Sherlock." Mycroft crossed the room to pull the teen into a hug. "You must have given Ariel the slip. Again. I'm not pleased that you're on Earth, _where you_ _obviously are not supposed to be_ , but I am relieved that you are well. Greg, this is Sherlock, my brother."

"Your _brother_? How does that work? Never mind, I don't want to know," Greg said, walking into the flat and closing the door. Now with a teenager in the flat, Greg couldn't do something things...that he wanted to do to test Mycroft. Like walk around naked, that one was definitely off the list.

Sherlock huffed when Mycroft came over to hug him, not returning the favor. "Your landlady told me there are two bedrooms, so naturally I thought I'd stay in the unused one."

"You're staying? Here?" Greg asked, running his fingers through his hair. "I didn't sign up for babysitting."

"Greg, could I speak to you for moment please?" Mycroft looked at Greg for eye contact. He nodded towards the kitchen.

Greg furrowed his eyebrows but ultimately went into the kitchen.

Sherlock scoffed and settled himself back down on the couch.

"Sherlock... never got along with anyone, in heaven," Mycroft started. "So when he met me and persistently stayed despite his acerbic attitude, I took him under my wing, so to speak." he looked down. "I would be grateful if you would allow him to stay with us. It would bring me much needed peace of mind."

Greg sighed and nodded, "You know I'm going to be a horrible influence on him, I can't not be."

"And I will be here to negate your 'horrible influence', as you said," Mycroft stepped closer and hesitantly put his right hand on Greg's arm. "You'll find his level of maturity and ideas to be similar to yours, I believe," he said, an amused glint in his eyes.

He looked down at the hand on his arm then up at Mycroft and just blinked slowly. "Oh, is he also three days old?" Greg cocked his head and grinned. "And I'm sure he and I have completely different ideas in terms of you. At least I hope."

"He certainly acts like he's three days old sometimes," the angel sighed. "I would ask what kind of 'ideas in terms of me' you meant to be sure, but I have a feeling that I don't want to know them...yet."

Greg grinned wider. "Although I _would_ like to tell you all the naughty things I want to do to you, your brother is in the next room and that's not exactly family material." He walked out of the kitchen and asked Sherlock, "So, Sherlock, are all angels like your brother?"

Sherlock sighed, "Unfortunately yes, most of them are exceedingly dull. Mycroft, however, isn't the worst, at least he's _somewhat_ intelligent."

"Thank you for your kind words, brother." Mycroft followed Greg out of the kitchen and sneered at Sherlock. "I assume I will have to pay a little visit to Mrs Hudson and ask her to enroll you to a school. We need to create a cover story, too - make sure that our stories overlap with each other."

Sherlock sat up immediately. "No! I'm not going to human school!"

Greg snorted out a laugh, "If I've gotta work, you've gotta go to school. We're supposed to be fitting in."

"I'm not going." The teen sat back down in a huff, staring angrily at the wall.

Greg looked over at Mycroft, "Bit of a brat, isn't he?"

It hadn't even been an hour and Mycroft felt tired already. Maybe he should just send Sherlock back to Ariel. But he knew that no matter how bratty Sherlock was, he'd been hurt by people's leers before, and he couldn't help but want to protect the boy as much as he could.

"He is," he sighed. "Sherlock, either you go to a human school or we will have no choice but to send you back to heaven. I am sure Anthea will notice your disappearance by tomorrow and will come here for you."

Sherlock's eyes darted around, trying to find an out for the situation. "Can't I just be homeschooled? Isn't that a thing?"

Greg shook his head, "No, it's not enough for us to tell people you get schooled at home, people need to actually believe it so, you have to go to school." He shrugged. "It probably won't be too hard for you at all, so I don't know why you're complaining."

"I'm complaining because I don't want to be _bored_ for most of the day." Sherlock sneered at the demon.

"Gregory is right. Homeschooling would be a luxury we shouldn't be able to afford, considering our social standing at the moment. You can always take side-projects to entertain you, if you're clever enough you could probably charm some teachers who would allow you to skip several years," Mycroft reasoned.

Greg perked up when Mycroft said that he was right.  Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"'Sides, you could probably help some kids get on the right path or something like that. You know what angel's do." Greg looked over at Mycroft. "Don't go too far though, don't want you keeling over from lack of grace." He paused. "Or...if you're up to it, you can experiment in doing bad things. I could give you some pointers."

Sherlock looked at Greg in disgust. "Look, Gavin, from what I've seen you're a horrible demon-"

"Sherlock. Either you go to school, or we're sending you home. That's final and non-negotiable." Mycroft crossed his arms. He will have to speak to Sherlock later about insulting his soulmate.

"And it's Greg." Greg said, crossing his arms to mirror Mycroft. "Now you're going to go to school or I won't do any fun things with you later on."

Sherlock glared at them both but said nothing.

Mycroft raised his eyebrow. "I need your word, Sherlock Holmes. Promise you will _try_ to behave in school."

Sherlock sighed, "Fine, I'll go to school and I'll _behave_ ," he said with disgust.

"Good." Greg nodded and headed back into the kitchen to get- "You ate all the bloody biscuits!"

There was a knock on the door. Mycroft walked over and opened to see Mrs Hudson, a polite smile barely containing her cheeriness. "Good afternoon, Mr Holmes. I heard you come in earlier so I believe you have had a chance to speak with your brother?"

"Yes, Mrs Hudson. Thank you for opening the door for him. He will be staying with us, if that is fine with you." Mycroft smiled. "Of course, don't be silly. The more the merrier!" she laughed.

Greg came out of the kitchen with the empty plate that once held the biscuits, offering it to the landlady. "Hardly lasted the night." He said with a charming smile.

Sherlock scoffed and went to stand over by the window.

Greg looked back at Sherlock and then over at Mrs. Hudson. "If you hear any yells or screams later on, that's just me beatin' the attitude out of the young one," he said with a disarming smile.

Mycroft eyed Sherlock, non-verbally telling him to behave. "Please, come in. Would you like some tea?"

Mrs Hudson smiled. "Thank you for your kind invitation, Mr Holmes, but I'm afraid I am meeting my sister soon and thus cannot stay for long. I was merely wondering if you have met your little brother and if everything is fine."

"I am afraid we might have to inconvenience you one more time, Mrs Hudson," Mycroft began. "We would like to enroll Sherlock in school, if it is not too much trouble."

"Of course, of course. I expected so, I will sort it immediately. He can start on Monday, I can even go with him on the first day if you'd like," Mrs Hudson hummed.

"Yeah, Mycroft, you can even go with him," Greg raised his eyebrows then wandered off to the other side of the room where Sherlock was. "So tell me more about Mycroft, how can I get through to him?" He asked Sherlock quietly.

Sherlock shook his head. "Why would I tell a demon something like that?" He side eyed Greg.

"You wound me, Sherlock. I just want to know how he works so I'm not constantly irritating him."

Sherlock turned to face him, "You really _are_ a horrible demon aren't you? You know many in your place would want to strike my brother down."

"Well, that's why they made me fresh, I reckon." Greg stood his ground which involved having an impromptu staring contest with the young angel.

"That school is on my way to the town hall, so I can walk with him," Mycroft smiled, ignoring the demon and his little brother whispering across the room. "We have troubled you enough as it is."

"It is no trouble Mr Holmes, as I have said before. I am afraid I must now take my leave, but as per usual please feel free to ask me any questions," she said her goodbyes and Mycroft bowed a little as she left.

Sherlock scoffed at the demon. "Fresh. My brother has fought and killed thousands of demons like you, don't think for a second that he won't cut you down if he needs to."

"Oh I know he has." Greg replied. "I don't think I have to worry too much though," he grinned. "I think I've made quite an impression on him already."

Sherlock glared at him then turned to Mycroft. "Brother, take your...pet demon somewhere where he is not clouding up the air with his talking?"

"Sherlock. With me in my room, _now_." Mycroft stared at Sherlock from the doorway and crossed his arms.

With a sassy look on his face, Sherlock went. Greg watched the two angels go up the stairs and after they were a considerable distance away, he followed. He stood next to the closed bedroom door to listen to Mycroft's scolding of the young angel.

Mycroft waited Sherlock to enter and closed the door. He crossed his arms again and stared down at the teen.

"You will _not_ speak to my soulmate like that."

The teen arched his eyebrow at him and feigned innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know exactly what I mean, and _you will treat him with respect_." Mycroft stated, his grace radiating slowly, making the room feel heavier.

"He's a demon, Mycroft." Sherlock said dully. "Just because he's your _soulmate_ " he spat out that word like it was toxic, "doesn't mean that he isn't just as bad as the rest of the demons you've slaughtered. What makes him so different? It's not just because he's your...you know."

"He may be a demon, but I believe that there is more to him than the demons we've encountered before. His soulmate is an archangel, and that already separates him from the rest." Mycroft said. "His whole existence was created for me, and I trust in Father's judgment that he is my complement in ways both you and I cannot even begin to imagine. Disrespecting him means that you are disrespecting _me_ , and more indirectly, Father's trust in this treaty."

Sherlock let out a sigh and gave his brother a look. "Be that as it may, I still don't like him, regardless of your recently acquired _sentiment_."

Mycroft gave him a severe look. "You do not need to like him. You just need to respect him like you do to me."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and hissed out, "And just know that if he makes you...sad in any way, I will strike him down." He settled back into his own non-caring pose. "Are we done here?"

Mycroft's eyes softened. "I am glad you are alright. I worried, when they transported me before I could inform you," he straightened up. "Yes, we are done here."

"You know I'll always find out where you are and then come to annoy you." Sherlock gave a small smile at his brother. "It's one of the many things I'm good at."


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

> _Sherlock narrowed his eyes and hissed out, "And just know that if he makes you...sad in any way, I will strike him down." He settled back into his own non-caring pose. "Are we done here?"_
> 
> _Mycroft's eyes softened. "I am glad you are alright. I worried, when they transported me before I could inform you." he straightened up. "Yes, we are done here."_
> 
> _"You know I'll always find out where you are and then come to annoy you." Sherlock gave a small smile at his brother. "It's one of the many things I'm good at."_

 

Outside, Greg scurried down the stairs to avoid getting caught.

Mycroft ruffled Sherlock's hair and opened the door. Sherlock left the room to go downstairs first before he closed the door behind him. He caught a small whiff of a smell he is growing to associate as Greg's by the door - but he waved the thought away and left to follow Sherlock downstairs.

Greg was sitting at the table, drumming his fingers against the wood and seemingly patiently waiting for the two to get back from their little talk. "Everything sorted?" He asked as Sherlock bound down the stairs.

"Yes, I've been told to be nicer to you, regardless of the fact you're a demon." Sherlock said, moving back to his lounging spot on the couch.

Mycroft went to the kitchen directly, footsteps padding across the wooden floor. "Would anyone like some tea?"

"I was, uh, actually thinking about going to the shops." Greg said, standing. "I just can think of some practical things that we don't have here..."

"Oh, I'll come with you," Mycroft turned by the doorway. He looked at Sherlock, suddenly unsure.

"You don't have to," Greg shrugged. "It's not going to be very interesting... Sherlock can come too if he wants. Be good to have him get out and see the world."

"And be with people? I rather not." Sherlock said, waving him off.

"You will be living amongst those people, so might as well get used to them from now on." Mycroft crossed the room and stood by the doorway. "Or we'll leave you here."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the two at the doorway. "Fine." He huffed and got up to join them.

"Good. Mycroft, you've got the money right?" Greg asked, "I don't know how to do the...whatsit? The bank or whatever."

"I do." Mycroft patted his pocket.

"Good, good." Greg said absently, starting down the stairs. Sherlock gave Mycroft and look and then followed the demon.

Mycroft tilted his head, a little confused, but locked the door behind him and followed them out.

"So," Greg shoved his hands in his pockets, "Which way to the shops, Myc?" He looked back at the taller angel.

"It's to the left." Mycroft stepped forward, beside Greg. "Is there anything specific you'd like to look for?"

Greg grabbed Mycroft's hand then immediately dropped it again. "Oh, no invisibility this time." He looked over at Sherlock then straight ahead, "Let's go." As they started walking Greg answered with, "Yeah, don't worry about it."

Mycroft looked at Greg sideways, one eyebrow raised. He was going to ask if he'd like to have invisibility, but Greg brushing him off made him decide against it. "If you say so," he murmured.

Sherlock looked carefully at the people walking around them as they went. "Why are humans so strange?" He muttered to himself, watching a particularly interesting drunk stumbling into an alleyway.

"Interesting, Sherlock," Mycroft mused, watching a woman walk past, a domestic fight obvious from the state of her sleeves, her discontent with her husband's work hours visible from her eyes and her want to impress her son's teacher obvious from her perfume, how she's dressed and the fact that she was walking towards the direction of the only school in the area. "The word is interesting."

"Interesting." Sherlock nodded. "Definitely interesting." He said, spotting a mechanical contraption strolling down the street along with the horse drawn carriages. "Extraordinary." He tugged on his brother's sleeve. "I must get my hands on one of those contraptions!" He insisted urgently.

"Aw, you're a cute one." Greg said, reaching over and ruffling Sherlock's hair. He was met with a scowl. "You know they got body parts like that as well? Mechanical and the like?" Sherlock's eyes lit up.

Mycroft pretended to find something interesting on the side to hide his smile. He hummed thoughtfully. Maybe they could get Sherlock one of those contraptions along with a kit to disassemble it sometime, as a reward for good behavior or some sort.

The sound of someone yelling Father's name out loud suddenly caught his attention. He slowed down his pace and swept the surroundings, finding a man surrounded by a crowd of humans, holding a wood stick with a board attached to its upper part. He couldn't see what is written on the board.

"The end is nigh!" the man yelled, "Repent for your sins or you shall perish!"

Greg saw the preacher and turned to Mycroft, giving a wicked smile. "Can I go be bad? Please?"

Mycroft frowned. He was curious to see what Greg would do, but he also felt cautious. "What are you going to do?"

Greg was already starting to walk over to the crowd. "Test his faith a little?" He said with a grin and a shrug. More like rock the preacher's faith to the core, it was up to the preacher himself if he wanted to abandon faith all together or become more religious.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at Mycroft. "You're really letting him go do this? He could be risking everything."

"I see that the preacher's faith is sufficient to withstand his taunts," Mycroft followed Greg, gesturing Sherlock to do the same. "This may either strengthen or crumble his strength. Come, we should be there to prevent the latter."

The crowd parted easily for the demon, walking right up to the preacher in the middle of his sermon. "-and they shall see how Godless a nation we have become-"

"And you think running your mouth off in the street is gonna do anything about that?" Greg asked, crossing his arms over his chest and giving the preacher a challenging look.

The preacher stopped abruptly, not used to people from a crowd talking back at him. "Sir, I simply wish to share the Lord's words," he looked at Greg curiously. "It is written in the Holy Book that we, in good faith, must share the Gospel so that people of all nations can be saved and rejoice with our brothers and sisters in heaven!"

"So you think your _brothers and sisters in heaven_ are rejoicing about what's happening down here? Look around you. I don't see much to rejoice about, do you?" Greg asked, cocking his head. He could already feel some of the people of the crowd start to sway into his favor.

"My apologies, but I believe you have misunderstood me, my dear sir," the preacher smiled. "Those in heaven will rejoice about the fact that those who follow His word will be saved, allowed to reunite in peace where suffering and disease no longer exist, where everyone deserves a chance to live a better life unrestrained from the conditions of their birth."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. The preacher was doing well, but that did not mean the demon would stop easily.

"But why not here? Now? Why not stop the suffering that's happening right now? Hm? Surely that's a better way to show _God's_ power? Instead of speaking about how everything's going to be okay, why don't you make it." Greg said forcefully. "Because speaking about it doesn't help the here and now. Words are words, they don't mean anything. And the Bible is just a bit of paper written by humanity. Doesn't mean anything."

Mycroft hid his clenched fists in his crossed arms and gritted his teeth. The accusation physically hurt, but he was not going to show it.

"Words can mean everything," the preacher said. "When used correctly, words have power. We see this in the papers, in books and in speeches. Words, especially that of the Bible, can help soothe those suffering on their own at the moment and reach towards those who have been led astray. They can restore one's faith in their lives during difficult times and give comfort to those drowning in grief. They can prepare us for a life full of blessings from the Lord."

"Oh yeah, blessings. All around I see blessings for following _His_ word. Does the Bible teach you to be _blind_ too? Or is that just a blessing?" Greg asked smugly. "Blind faith. I don't really see the faithful doing any better than the rest of us, so what does it matter, really, if you have faith or not. It's not like you're getting an extra pence from going to church on Sunday. It's pointless. You say you give hope to the struggling but...hope of what? I think we should all indulge in Earthly desires while we're still able to. I mean, what else are they for, you're definitely not going to able to gamble in heaven."

Mycroft folded his arms tighter to his torso. He felt Greg's insults to the faith like phantom stabs to his insides and inhaled deeply in an attempt to reduce the pain. The crowd was starting to get a little restless, most torn from listening to Greg and the preacher. Some looked thoughtful, and some looked downright furious at Greg's words.

"If my words today can help one person out of their lonesome misery and give them hope for the future, I will not call that pointless, sir," the preacher brightened. "We all need hope to drive us towards a better future. The Lord will reward us handsomely for keeping to His words in blessings, sir, and having faith in Him and His ways will lead us there."

Greg shook his head. "You're not listening to me. You're promising all these things but you can't deliver." He tried another tactic. "And what about you, hm? How can you be renouncing sin, when you sin yourself, preacher. Every other night, with the girls down the block, you know the ones I'm talking about."

The preacher's eyes widened as he spluttered. "H-How could you possibly know-- I would never!!" he yelled indignantly, his hand on his chest as if wounded. The crowd started muttering to each other, with some of the women whispering to each other about how they once saw a man similar to the preacher's stature in the darker side of the slums and how they assumed that either it was him, or he was there to save someone's repentant soul. Mycroft could see seeds of doubt being planted in some of their minds and readied himself to step in. "You scoundrel- how dare you accuse me of such a thing!"

"Surely you wouldn't have reacted that way if it weren't true." Greg grinned. "I believe there's a place in hell for hypocrites..." He gave him a shrug.

The preacher tried to recover, but his nervous ticks did not go unnoticed by Mycroft. The angel took pity in the man, and gave him a nudge with his grace.

"S-Saving a lost lamb's soul is more important than my image." he said determinedly, suddenly having regained a little more of his confidence back. "And I would never betray my family's trust. Never."

"Image is everything. If the people can't trust you to lead yourself into heaven, why should they listen to you at all?" Greg said, "How can you expect a sinner to lead the sinless? I mean, who knows where you'll lead them."

"Everyone was born with both good and bad in them, I believe." Mycroft suddenly spoke, his eyes meeting Greg's. "It is man who chooses whether to let their good side rule over the bad and live according to His words, repenting for their sins - or to succumb into temptation and let themselves be swallowed by their sinful side."

Greg looked back at Mycroft, giving him a little glare before saying, "Yeah, but he's not really good at...resisting temptation, are you?" He looked back at the preacher. "I think he should get his life in order before he starts telling people how to live." He looked over at Mycroft, "Wouldn't you agree?"

"A call to seek the truth of His words together is hardly 'telling people how to live'," Mycroft shrugged.

"Is the way I see it-" Greg started with a shrug and was beginning to start another spiel when he looked over at Mycroft. He noticed the angel's displeased face and grimaced. "Fine, I'll leave him alone," he muttered just loud enough so Mycroft and Sherlock could hear.

With Greg's silence, the debate was clearly over and the crowd started to dissipate. The preacher walked over to Mycroft's side, away from Greg. "I...Thank you, good sir," he said sincerely. "I--that was most unexpected, but very much appreciated nonetheless." His hands were still wrung together, showing how unnerved he was. Mycroft turned his back completely to Greg, giving the poor man his full attention.

"That was quite the impressive debate you had, Father," Mycroft smiled reassuringly. "Thank you for your dedication in the Lord's work. Please leave today with the knowledge that you will be rewarded handsomely for your faith. May our Father bless you and your family."

Greg let out a huff and started muttering under his breath stuff about 'bloody angels' and the like. Sherlock coughed and gave him a look, "Sore loser?" the teen asked.

"I would have bloody won if your brother hadn't stepped in." Greg said in annoyance. And, just because he wanted to, he stuck out his tongue in Mycroft's direction, knowing that he wouldn't see it with his back turned.

The preacher brightened, the nervous tick gone with the resurgence of his confidence and bowed his head in gratitude as he took his leave. Mycroft turned to see Greg sticking his tongue out at his direction and raised an eyebrow. "Shall we go?"

Greg grumbled again and set off in the direction of the store. "Look, I know you're a bloody angel, but could you stop being so _good_ all the time?" He looked over at Mycroft.

Mycroft simply glared at Greg. "It's in my nature--" he stepped forward to follow the demon and winced. He must have accidentally jarred something that was injured from Greg's insults earlier. He swallowed discreetly and continued walking, his side pulsing with pain and making him slightly limp to the side.

Greg frowned as they started to walk on. "Why are you limping..." He looked behind them, "Did you step in-"

"No, idiot." Sherlock said sharply, "He's hurt because of your insults."

"What?" Greg was confused now, how did what he said back there mean anything? It was just words. He just wanted to shake the preacher's faith a little.

"Words are powerful, Gregory. More powerful than you think," Mycroft sighed. "Especially those that insult Father and the faith."

"But why are you hurt?" Greg asked, shaking his head. "I didn't say them _to you_ , it didn't have anything to do with you."

"He's an archangel, you arse." Sherlock continued to insult him. "Of course he gets hurt when someone insults the Lord and his Followers."

"What...seriously?" Greg asked, opening his mouth a bit in shock. "A bit like saying 'I do believe in fairies.' Why didn't you stop me?"

"You were adamant on proving the preacher wrong." Mycroft winced again. The _pointless_ jab was particularly bad. "If I had stopped you earlier, you would be in a worse mood. And it's fine. A little wound like this is worth the faith strengthened in that preacher."

"A little wound? You're limping! Christ!" Greg winced, when he realised he just took the Lord's name in vain. "Fuck, sorry." He sighed at himself for being a complete asshole, Sherlock was right. "Sorry..."

"Please don't say His name in vain," Mycroft automatically said. He saw the demon's shoulders slumping and sighed internally. "Gregory. I said it was fine. I have had much worse before. I'll recover completely before you know it."

Greg looked at Mycroft and shook his head. "I'm your soulmate, I shouldn't be hurting you." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and started walking again.

Mycroft gripped Greg's wrist before he got too far. "Gregory. Look at me."

Greg sighed and looked at Mycroft with what some would call the world's first instance of puppy-dog eyes.

"You did not know. It is fine. _I'm fine_." Mycroft looked steadily at Greg's eyes.

Greg sighed and nodded. "Alright...come on we're almost to the store."

Satisfied, Mycroft let go of Greg's wrist. His wounds - _that's a strong word, it was more like a scratch really_ \- were already closing and his limp was nearly gone. He stepped forward to walk beside Sherlock, putting the teen between him and Greg.

The corner general store had a few people in it when the group walked in. Greg scanned over the shop, taking in all they had to offer. "Why don't you two look around while I get what I came for, hm?" He had already started off down the aisle with the different lubricants in glass jars on display.

Mycroft's jaw dropped slightly, his face turning furiously bright red before he quickly dragged Sherlock away from the sight. _Maybe I shouldn't have forgiven that- idiot--!_

Greg glanced back over and saw Mycroft dragging Sherlock away. Well, they were going to use it eventually, Greg was sure. He figured it was best to buy it now so they didn't have to scramble to come get it later. Greg shrugged and grabbed the best looking bottle off the shelf and started reading the label on it when he sensed a presence beside him.

"Speak of the devil." Greg said, looking up to find Lucifer, looking at the products on the shelf beside him.

"I've just come to see how you've been progressing." Lucifer said absently, picking up a bottle of _All Purpose Lubricant_ from the shelf.

"You already know, you've been watching." Greg glanced up at the devil.

"Yes, but I'd like to hear your thoughts on the situations you've found yourself in." Lucifer turned to look down at him, his eyes gleaming.

Greg shrugged in response. "So far so good, I think. I think Mycroft is fond of me...he's definitely more...straight and narrow than what I've expected but, I think he's warming up to me quite nicely."

Lucifer sauntered a little closer to the young demon. "Oh, because I think you've been warming up to him quite a bit as well."

Mycroft was browsing through different toothpastes while keeping an eye on Sherlock's fascinated observation of people's mechanics when he sensed the shift in the air. He quickly grabbed Sherlock behind him and made a beeline towards the offending presence. He had only seen this kind of presence several times before, mostly during war.

"Mycroft, what are you _doing_ \-- you're hurting my wrist--" Sherlock bumped to Mycroft's back as the archangel abruptly stopped. The teen grumbled to himself - _senile old man, what is wrong with him now_ \- and looked out from Mycroft's back to see a man standing very closely to Greg, talking and smirking while evil seem like it exuded from his pores. Sherlock suppressed a shudder and Mycroft quickly tugged Sherlock out of Lucifer's sight.

Lucifer could sense the archangel at his back but didn't turn to acknowledge him, he just gave Greg a knowing smile.

"Well, yeah that's what I'm supposed to do, innit?" Greg shifted on his feet, should he tell him about Sherlock staying with them? Nah, if the devil didn't already know about the teen then he didn't need to. "I think if I just keep on doing what I'm doing...everything will turn out according to plan." He shrugged.

"Good, good. Everything is turning out well then." Lucifer put his hand on Greg's shoulder. "You're doing well, you should be proud of yourself. Any lesser demon would have killed the angel by now."

"Luci, you'll make me blush." Greg tried to play off the fact that the devil was getting closer to him and making him a little nervous. He wasn't scared, he'd been with Lucifer alone before but now they were out there, with humans, and Greg had a cover to maintain.

"Word of advice? Go for the wings." Lucifer said with a smile before turning, looking in Mycroft's direction, and vanishing as quickly as he came. Of course he left Greg with a look of confusion on his face.

Mycroft's lips turned into thin lines.

Greg had a plan. _Against him_. So much for soulmates. Maybe this treaty was just a farce after all.


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

> _Greg had a plan. Against him . So much for soulmates. Maybe this treaty was just a farce after all._

 

Mycroft felt a little part of his heart shatter in disappointment and closed the door to that. No matter. Mycroft had to keep Sherlock safe. It'll just be like in the field again - keep your brothers in sight at all times, never turn your back to the enemy, be alert and ready anytime.

Sherlock noticed Mycroft's expression and kept his silence wisely.

Greg shook his head at how...flighty Lucifer was. He turned and went down the next aisle to get a pack of cigarettes, something that he'd seen a lot of humans smoking and he wanted to give it a go himself.

Mycroft took deep breaths to calm himself. Greg did not seem to have noticed their presence. Good. That meant they still had the upper hand.

The archangel composed himself and dragged Sherlock back to where they were. The teen wanted to say something about what they just saw, but a look at his brother's face quietened him. He decided to distract Mycroft instead.

After picking up a pack of cigs and a book of matches--which he thought they might have back at the flat but he definitely didn't want to use those in case they needed them later--Greg wandered through the other aisles. Down the aisle of sweets, he passed some apple candies. He gave a small smile when he saw them and picked them up for Mycroft. Greg continued down the aisles until he bumped into the two angels again. "All set?"

"...Yes. Let's go." Mycroft turned and immediately started walking towards the cashier.

Greg nodded and followed, placing the items on the counter and leaning just beside the register, his hands in his pockets. The cashier looked at the three then the items that Greg had just sat down, but only said the amount due.

Mycroft didn't even check to see what Greg bought; he just paid the exact amount the cashier said and resolutely did not look at Greg.

Greg frowned, he was sure that Mycroft would have at least something to say about what he'd bought. At least notice the apple candy for crying out loud. Greg grabbed the items from the counter, nodding to the cashier and sticking the cigarettes and matches in his pocket. "What, nothing to say? No lecture about bad habits and the like?"

Mycroft looked at Greg briefly, said "No." and started to walk away, Sherlock in tow. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Greg, mouthing 'You're dead'.

Greg frowned even more. "What?" He followed quickly after the two. "What did I do?"

"Nothing. I just think we should return before it's dark." Mycroft kept walking, "I'd rather not keep Sherlock outside after it's dark, it's not safe." He raised his eyebrow at Greg, as if urging the demon to follow.

"Oh." Greg said, still following. "Well he's got us to protect him, I doubt anyone would willingly go up against an angel and a demon." He said off hand.

"I'd rather not blow our cover on our first day," Mycroft said in a low tone, aware of people around them. "Wiping memories of this many people would tax my grace, and I would really rather not."

Greg nodded, "Right, I'm just saying if anyone tries anything. I don't think they will, I'm intimidating enough." He puffed out his chest in order to seem more muscular and manly than he was.

Mycroft felt himself melt a little at Greg's display of confidence, while Sherlock barely kept his laugh in. Greg's puff reminded both of them of a chicken cartoon that was rather popular in heaven long ago.

"What?" He asked Sherlock, seeing that he was struggling to not laugh, "You don't think so?"

"No, you're absolutely right." Sherlock grinned innocently. He wasn't going to tell Greg that he reminded them both of a chicken. He wanted to keep it a secret reference between him and his brother. Mycroft liked being able to do brotherly things with Sherlock, and from his observations throughout the years 'sharing inside jokes' was one of them. He caught Mycroft's little smile and knew he succeeded to cheer his brother a little.

Greg narrowed his eyes at the teen, "Yeah I thought so." Soon they were back at the flat, Mrs. Hudson was waiting patiently at the door for them.

"Oh, I'm so glad you boys are back before dark, that's when the creatures come out. While I know that you boys can handle yourself, I don't want any of you getting hurt." Mrs. Hudson said as they walked through the door, she quickly locked up behind them.

"Apologies, Mrs Hudson, we were carried away," Mycroft smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, but what did you mean by creatures...?"

"Oh they're not too scary." Greg scoffed, "I mean I wouldn't want to deal with a bunch of them all at once but..."

"Oh dear, you don't know about them, you've been so busy with the war and all..." Mrs. Hudson tutted, ignoring Greg's showing off. "There are things in the night, hybrids of humans and...animals. One can turn into a wolf during the full moon, the other sucks the blood of the living to survive. Werewolves and vampires, respectively. I'm sure Gregory here can bring you up to speed on the specifics." The landlady said, "It's about time for my herbal soothers. Have a nice night boys, sleep well."

"Herbal soothers?" Sherlock murmured, looking up to Mycroft for some sort of clarification. Mycroft gestured for Sherlock to hold his questions until later. He said their goodbyes to Mrs Hudson and ushered the other two upstairs.

Greg went and put the bottle of lube and the bag of candy on the kitchen table before going to sit on the sofa. "So, creatures. Lucifer told me all about them before we came up, he was really excited about them. Vampires are basically really strong, really fast humans. All their senses are heightened and it takes a lot to kill them. They're not too fond of sunlight or religious stuff but I think the older they are the more immune to it they become. Oh and they also drink blood." He brought his hands up to his mouth and wiggled his pointer fingers to represent fangs.

After seeing Mrs Hudson, Mycroft's anger has shimmered down. He could now pay more attention to his surroundings, instead of being distracted by the running commentary of _how could he_. Upon seeing that the bottle that Greg put on the table says _All Purpose Lubricant_ , Mycroft gasped under his breath. He quickly strode over to the table before anyone even realized he was moving and put the bottle into his pocket. Heavens forbid Sherlock sees that. He may be a centuries-old angel, but he's still a _cherub_. There will be words.

He glanced over to Greg. "Is there any way for us to survive an encounter with them?"

"Hm. I don't know how our blood would affect them but, I doubt fighting them would be any different than fighting each other," Greg said, scratching his chin. "Like I said, packs are what we need to look out for. One on one is easy. Don't get me started on werewolves. Cute and cuddly til they bite your face off."

"I wonder if I can experiment with their blood." Sherlock hummed thoughtfully, plopping himself onto the couch. "Can we tell them apart in daylight? Do you think I can get a sample from them?"

Mycroft grimaces. "No.

"Well I doubt you can just walk up to one and ask." Greg scoffed. "Now werewolves are kinda like vampires but they turn into huge wolves during the full moon. So they're not that dangerous any other time. That's about it, I think."

There's a brief mischievous glint in Sherlock's eyes which Mycroft caught just in time. The older angel sighed. "Sherlock, no."

Greg laughed. "Oh let him be, Mycroft."

"Yes, Mycroft, let me be." Sherlock smirked. "Chances are I'll never see one of these creatures, especially with you as my keeper."

"See? And here we all live, as governed by Mycroft." Greg said crossed his arms over his chest. "Never letting us do anything fun."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Stop being so childish. I am simply acting in your best interests, and that is keeping you safe."

Greg walked to Mycroft with a smile and pulled him into a tight hug.

Sherlock made fake retching sounds on the sofa.

Mycroft instinctively reached up to return the hug, but he suddenly remembered the encounter in the shop and abruptly dropped his hands to his sides.

"What, you're not gonna hug your soulmate back?" Greg asked, nuzzling at Mycroft's shoulder with his nose.

"Can you two get a room?" Sherlock said, shielding his eyes from the sight.

Mycroft placed his hand on Greg's back, but he did not pull the other closer. The thought that his own soulmate was betraying him saddened him more than he would admit to himself, and the door in his heart he slammed earlier shook.

 _Father_ , Mycroft looks up heavenward with quiet sigh, _please, give me strength._

Greg pulled away with a grin and looked back at Sherlock. "Time for bed for wee ones."

"What?" Sherlock sat up straight. "I am _not_ going to bed right now, the sun just went down."

"Fine, then don't tell us to get a room then." Greg turned and kissed Mycroft on the cheek.

The kiss jarred Mycroft out of his quick prayer, and his hand on Greg's shoulder gently but firmly pushed the other away. "Alright, that's enough. I am going to try prepare for dinner. Sherlock, would you like to help me in the kitchen?"

"Sure." Sherlock hopped up. "Are we going to poison the demon?" He asked, shooting Greg a glare.

"Yeah well if you were going to poison me, you wouldn't ask that in ear shot, hm?" Greg gave him a wink then walked over to the window. "I'm gonna be over here, trying this thing so if you smell smoke that isn't coming from where you are..." Greg gave a smile and reached in his pockets and pulled out his package of cigarettes and the matches.

Mycroft has pulled out the chopping board and a knife by the time Sherlock entered the kitchen. "I will show you how to cut potatoes," - he pulled out some potatoes from the cupboard - "and then I believe I can trust you with a knife?" he looked at Sherlock directly in the eyes for good measure.

"Of course." Sherlock answered dully, staring at his brother. "I'm not a child, Mycroft, despite what you think."

In the living room, Greg propped open the window and took a cigarette out of it's package. He strike a match and lit the stick, putting it to his mouth and inhaling. "Fuck." He took the cigarette out of his mouth and coughed. "Just like hell, that's lovely." He looked at the cig and nodded, yes he quite liked that, and stuck it back in his mouth for another inhale.

Mycroft shrugged. "I would rather be sure than assume." He proceeded to cut one of the potatoes in dices, and then handed them over to Sherlock.

He took a carton of eggs and a packet of bacon he saw in the fridge earlier. Pan-fried eggs and bacon will have to do for tonight - he'll go for more fresh produce tomorrow. Sherlock will want to see the antiques' and mechanic's shops in the market anyway.

"What are you going to do about him?" Sherlock asked, slicing up the potatoes easily.

"We will proceed as if we did not overhear them," Mycroft said quietly. "You are not to leave my sight at all times. In the meantime, I will get Anthea to deliver a message to Father, in case they do intend to nullify the treaty and attack."

"It would be a stupid thing if they did." Sherlock said. "Considering who they decided to send? Against _you_? He has no chance."

Greg decided they might need help in the kitchen so after he quickly smoked down the cigarette, he wandered over to the entryway just in time to hear Sherlock's little spiel. He frowned, what was he going on about?

Mycroft sensed Greg's presence and nudged Sherlock discreetly to stop talking on the matter. "Once you're finished, put them on a baking tray, I will give you the seasoning to do and we will put them in the oven to roast for a while."

Greg found it suspicious they stopped talking about him right when he started listening in. "Everything all right in there, you need me to come help?" He asked loudly.

Sherlock remained silent, giving Mycroft a look as he put the potatoes on the baking sheet.

Mycroft put the potatoes in the oven, looked over to Greg and smiled. "Thank you for the offer, but I believe dinner preparation is sorted. The roast potatoes will take a while, however - would you like to make some tea in the meantime?" Mycroft gestured to the kettle while handing over some grinded mixed herbs, salt and pepper to Sherlock.

"Sure," Greg said and walked into the kitchen. He grabbed the kettle, filled it with water, and placed it on the stovetop.

As Greg went over to grab out the tea from the cupboard, Sherlock sniffed him. "You smell like smoke." He observed.

"Really? You think so? Thanks."

Mycroft eyed Greg, finding his response slightly off. He busied himself with cleaning up instead. "Sherlock, could you get a pencil and a paper for me, please? We should write down items we need to procure tomorrow."

Sherlock sighed at the menial task he was assigned but went off to fetch what Mycroft asked for.

Greg watched the kettle intently and silently, arms across his chest.

Mycroft looked at Greg thoughtfully before he noticed something else on the table at the edge of his vision. He picked it up and took a closer look - _Apple Candies_.

"You... bought this for me?"

Greg looked over at what Mycroft was holding. "Yeah. Well technically _you_ bought them for you, but I picked them up." He shrugged.

Mycroft looked at the candies and smiled to himself. A demon would never buy an angel _anything_ , especially candies, of all things.

Greg may be planning something with Lucifer, but showing his gratitude is only proper. Especially considering that Greg may have heard a little of his conversation with Sherlock and that is what's causing his change of attitude - Mycroft has to show that he still has faith in the arrangement.

He walked over to Greg and kissed the top of his head quickly. "Thank you."

Greg gave him a half smile and shrugged again. "You said you liked them so I just thought....maybe they'll make you like me better."

Mycroft stopped. Maybe he... misunderstood. But that conversation could not have been taken any differently. Alas, that's for tonight to think about.

He gave Greg a private smile. "They did."


	7. Chapter 7

Greg gave him a smile as the kettle whistled. He took it off the heat and poured the water into the teapot with the tea leaves to let the steep.

Mycroft was about to check the potatoes when he could smell something he just smelled from Greg moments ago. "What's that-- Sherlock!" Mycroft went to the living room immediately to find Sherlock coughing by the window, a cigarette in his hand.

Greg followed and laughed when he saw Sherlock by the window. "Aw, he's just curious that's all. He's got a little hell streak in 'em." He told Mycroft.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed deeply. He went to open the window and crossed his arms, staring expectantly at Sherlock.

He knew that if he metaphorically slapped Sherlock's hand and forbid him from smoking, the teen would not listen and avoid Mycroft in the future instead. He would have to attempt approaching the situation differently.

"Indulgences and addiction are unbecoming of an angel. Curiosity, however, is accepted. I expect you to be better than let yourself be addicted to a human invention, Sherlock."

Greg blinked at Mycroft, knowing that he _just_ accepted apple candies, his indulgence. Well, a way to a man's heart is through his stomach, Greg has heard, maybe it rang true for angel's as well. Regardless, Greg set himself a goal to buy Mycroft as many little presents as he could for the future.

"It's actually quite good, once you get over the smoke." Sherlock said, inhaling the cigarette deeply. "You should try one, Mycroft, it might calm you down." He looked up at his brother.

"Well, might as well put another few packs of those on your list, if Sherlock and I'm gonna be sharing them." Greg nodded.

Mycroft made a face at Greg, as if silently saying _don't encourage this behavior, you dolt._

"Maybe. Maybe not." Mycroft glanced back to Sherlock, "Don't forget to open the windows, I would rather not suffocate from the smoke so early in this...arrangement."

"Dramatics run in the family then , does it?" Greg grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. "You won't suffocate....or if you start to, I'll give you mouth to mouth, how about that?"

"Your concern and offer is noted, Gregory," Mycroft drawled.

Greg gave a mocking bow, then straightened back up and sniffed the air. "Speaking of smoke... I think the potatoes are done."

Mycroft's eyes widened and he immediately went over to the oven. When he opened it, the steam attacked his face and he recoiled slightly before taking out the tray. The potatoes were slightly singed on the edges, but they were mostly edible still. The smell wafted throughout the room and Mycroft put the tray on the table, before he smelled something definitely _burning_ with a hiss under the tray and immediately lifted it.

There was a black mark on the table, the shape of the tray.

Greg, who was leaning by the entrance way to the kitchen. "Definitely don't want to do _that_ around humans." He commented on the fact that Mycroft just reached in and grabbed the tray out of the oven with his bare hands.

Mycroft looked down to the steaming tray. He hadn't even realized. "... Fair point." He put the tray on a metal top and turned to cook the eggs and bacon, and before long he had finished. "Sherlock, dinner!"

Sherlock finished his cigarette and wandered into the kitchen. "Do we even _need_ to eat? Seems like a waste to me." He took a seat at the table.

Greg busied himself with pouring the tea for everyone. "It's _human_ to eat."

"Well I don't want to be human." Sherlock countered.

"Then you're welcome to leave." Mycroft looked directly at Sherlock, as if daring him to.

"Now now, children." Greg said, putting the teacups in front of their three places at the table and sat himself. "This is our first real dinner at the flat, I say we enjoy it."

Sherlock scoffed and looked away from his brother's gaze.

Mycroft stared after Sherlock for a little. He set the plates and dishes and sat across the empty seat for Sherlock. "Thank you for the tea, Gregory."

Greg nodded, pushing his slightly singed potatoes around his plate. "Looks...yummy?"

Sherlock had to hide a laugh.

Mycroft rolled his eyes but couldn't help hide his smile. "You're on dinner duty next, then."

Greg gaped, "I said it looks yummy?!" He picked up his bacon with his fingers and tore into it. "Oh wait... you didn't want to....pray before we started eating did you?"

"I don't expect you to so please, eat. Sherlock and I will pray first and join you."

Greg shrugged and stuffed the rest of the piece of bacon into his mouth.

Sherlock grimaced at his display but dutifully clasped his hands together and closed his eyes.

Mycroft bowed his head and clasped his hands together. He gave thanks for the food, the things they've had the privilege of seeing and the establishment of the treaty. He - very briefly - asked for His blessing in the success of the arrangement and - very briefly - their safety. He ended the prayer with Our Lord's prayer.

Greg chewed through a potato thoughtfully. He didn't know whether it was the food or...if the angel's really did poison him, but all of a sudden he wasn't feeling too well.  He took a sip of tea. He didn't like this feeling, he wanted it to stop at once.

Mycroft felt lighter after the prayer. He was about to eat when he saw Greg grimacing and Sherlock just staring down at his plate. "Fine, if you don't want to eat, you're very welcome to starve." he shrugged.

Greg grimaced, still chewing. "I'm fine." There was still a weird feeling in the air and Greg didn't like the feeling of it. It felt...suffocating. He stabbed another potato and popped it into his mouth. "Are you sure you didn't _accidently_ poison this?"

Mycroft frowned, offended. "I'm very sure."

Sherlock let out a giggle by accident. "Ahem,"  he cleared his throat and sat up straighter. "Let's all agree not to have Mycroft cook again?" Greg nodded in agreement, trying to cut his egg in half with a fork.

"By all means, Gregory, you're welcome to cook for us instead," Mycroft tried to look stern, but he knew he was bad at cooking and the conversation was making him smile.

"I'll try, if all else fails we can always ask Mrs. Hudson to do it." Greg lifted up his egg that he speared on his fork, it stood straight out and didn't even wilt.

"I could try!" Sherlock said.

"No."

Mycroft just ate quietly. He didn't know what the fuss was about, really - whatever he made was still edible, and as far as first attempts go, he'd say he had done decently.

Greg forewent the egg for the potatoes, at least they weren't horribly rubbery. "I guess angels aren't good with everything."

"It's not like I've cooked often before, you know," Mycroft murmured down to his plate. He knew he shouldn't take the jabs to heart, they were just joking, but he couldn't help feel a tiny bit of hurt.

"Well, for a first try, you didn't burn down the house." Greg nodded.

"And the food still looks surprisingly like food, although it doesn't taste like it. Well done brother." Sherlock said with a smile.

Mycroft made a displeased face at Sherlock and an appreciative one to Greg. He swallowed the last bit of potatoes and sat behind to drink his tea.

Greg sat back and rubbed at his forehead. "Well...if we're done here." He stood. "I think I'll turn in early tonight."

Sherlock looked at him suspiciously but said nothing.

Mycroft cleaned up and threw away whatever was left. Might as well try anew tomorrow, he thought.

Sherlock, still sitting at the table, decided it was a perfect time to talk to his brother. Of course he didn't get up to help. "How long are you going to play pretend?"

"As long as necessary," he said quietly. "He exhibited some incongruous behavior earlier - I want to observe further before taking any steps." he glanced at Sherlock. "I expect you to do the same."

Sherlock huffed. "Incongruous? He's a demon, Mycroft. He's just trying to throw you off. Why do you think he retired early tonight? After meeting with Lucifer? He's up to something, obviously."

 _He seemed sincere_ , Mycroft thought. "I will ask our brothers to investigate the matter as well. Until we receive word from them, we will keep as it is."

"You know our brothers are...incompetent at best with these types of things," Sherlock said. "Perhaps we should investigate down here as well. I doubt he can hide anything well considering he's a stupid demon. Demon's like to boast, you know as well as I do."

"We will. But you will follow as I say, Sherlock, and not a toe out of the line." Mycroft narrowed his eyes at his little brother. "It can be dangerous."

"As are most worthwhile things, brother." Sherlock stared up at him.


	8. Chapter 8

Mycroft woke the next day to the sound of water hitting the roof. The other side of the bed was empty and had been cold for some time - Sherlock didn't go to bed, then. He stretched his limbs and, to a very limited extent, his wings, before washing up and dressing.

Sherlock was already up and in the living room, lounging on the couch. He perked up a bit when Mycroft came in. "Oh good, I've been calling on you for over an hour. I'm bored."

Greg was still in his bed, dead to the world.

"There's this thing called _sleep_ , Sherlock, you should try it sometime," Mycroft padded across the room. "Tea?"

"Yes." Sherlock said, "I'm still bored though. What do humans do down here anyway?"

"From what I've seen so far, aside from work or school, they go to theatres - to watch an opera, perhaps, or play music, or sports, for the more athletically inclined," Mycroft hummed.

Sherlock gave a put upon sigh. "I suppose."

Greg wandered into the living room with a yawn, going straight over to the window to light up a cigarette.

"Gregory, would you like some tea?" Mycroft asked, wandering into the kitchen.

"Huh?" Greg looked over, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. "Yeah, please?" Sherlock rolled over and stood up, walking over to Greg with a purpose and stealing one of his cigarettes for himself.

Mycroft left the room to put the kettle on the stove and settled to read the rest of the stack of papers while waiting for it to boil.

"Mycroft, come join us." Greg yelled from in the living room, not used to being awake at this hour and therefore a little bit louder than he anticipated.

Mycroft hummed, picked up the papers he was going to read and sat on one of the armchairs.

"Well, I guess that's a little better," Greg muttered. "What's going on today? Oh G- " He stopped himself before he blasphemed, "We better not start work today..."

"It's... 'Saturday', so no."

"Saturday...Satur-day...you know, for England being all...up and up with faith and stuff, you think they would change the names of the days to something less...pagan?" Greg mused, taking a deep breath of his cigarette.

"Humans have a hard time letting go of traditions." Sherlock answered. "Even when it comes from less reputable sources."

"Humans are creatures of habit, indeed" Mycroft leaned back. "They tend to keep things in status quo unless change is necessary."

"Well I'm glad they changed the work rules to have Saturday off." Greg said with a nod. "So what are we doing today then? I could have slept in..."

"I was thinking of getting some fresh meat and show Sherlock the market," Mycroft said, walking over to the boiled kettle and pouring tea into three cups.

"Alright, you two go and I'll go back to sleep." Greg nodded, it seemed like a good plan to him.

"No, you're coming with us." Sherlock said quickly.

Mycroft balanced three cups on a tray and put them on the table. "You're already up, might as well come with, Gregory," he eyed Greg over his cup.

Greg sighed. "Alright, fine. If you really wanted my company so bad, you could just say so." He gave a smile, tossing the last of his cigarette out the window.

"Well it's not exactly that." Sherlock mused.

"Please do refrain from setting fire to the building, Gregory, I do not wish to upset Mrs. Hudson," Mycroft pointedly looked at how Greg tossed his lit used cigarette out.

"What?" Greg looked out the window. "Oh, it's fine." He looked back at Mycroft, "You don't have to worry about things so much, Mycroft."

Sherlock scoffed.

"I'm used to taking care of Sherlock and some of his peers. At this point it's somewhat instinctive, I'm afraid," the archangel shrugged.

Greg gave him a look, trying not to smile as he took a sip of his tea.

Mycroft rolled up his sleeves and started on the papers for official arrangements Mrs Hudson had made for them. The sunlight streaming into the room fell on his hair, highlighting his ginger locks and some of the freckles on his cheek.

Greg's mouth fell open as he stared at Mycroft. "Your hair is like fire...it's gorgeous."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and finished his cigarette, he didn't want to be here to hear this....dribble. He walked into the kitchen to get away from it all.

Mycroft turned almost as red as his hair. That caught him off-guard completely, and he was at loss of words. "I- well- thank you. I...there's nothing special about them really, they're just...red." he picked on one of his hair locks, as if trying to see what's so ' _gorgeous_ ' about them.

"It's gorgeous." Greg licked his lips. "Honestly." He looked down at the rest of the angel. "And that goes for all of you too..."

Mycroft stared at Greg a little incredulously. Now _that_ cannot _possibly_ be sincere. He glanced away, slightly saddened and a bit angry that Greg would use compliments to try win him over - to manipulate him. "You're just trying to flatter me."

"No?" Greg cocked his head. "I mean, I hope you're flattered, but...it's the truth." He stood up. "You don't believe me?"

"I do believe you in general, but considering past experiences, the 'truth', in this case, is probably more subjective than you think and perhaps you're not right at all-" Mycroft rambled on, as was his tendency to when he is rather uncomfortably out of his depth, _why is he rambling he needs to stop._

"Aw you're embarrassed!" Greg grinned, he was loving this. "Mycroft's embarrassed because I told him he was pretty."

Mycroft's patience, tense and stretched thin as it was by his embarrassment, snapped. Now Greg was just mocking him. "I'm not embarrassed, nor am I 'pretty.' Cease and desist." he got up with his and Sherlock's cups and left to wash them.

"You are though," Greg said quietly but didn't push it.

"I'm glad that nonsense has ended," Sherlock decided to put in his two cents.

Mycroft whacked the back of Sherlock's head wordlessly with some folded sheets.

Sherlock looked at his brother in shock, how _dare_ he?

Mycroft looked down at Sherlock and raised his eyebrow, as if daring him to say something.

Sherlock, scandalized, refused to look back at Mycroft.

 

Mycroft kept a very close eye on Greg all the way to the marketplace. Greg knew this only because he was watching Mycroft very intently as well.  The market was busier than it was yesterday, considering it was Saturday and people weren't working. Greg had never seen such a group of humans that weren't screaming in agony in the pits of hell.

The air had a wet feel to it, from the early morning shower; the market smelled like wet earth combined with the various things sold in stalls and the roads gleaned, small pools of water in the uneven parts of the road reflecting lights from lamps. The smog was a little less thick - perhaps from the fact that less people were using heavy-duty engines to work. People of all ages were there - _housewives, workers, children, thieves_ \- and mostly were from working class - _from the state of their clothes_ \- but some maids from the higher classes - _from how they slightly recoiled from dirt_ \- were there as well. Mycroft observed quietly, but he still kept an eye on Greg.

"So if I stole from one of these pickpockets...would that be a good deed or a bad one?" Greg mused.

"Unless you want to be one of those... human _heroes_ , stealing from the bad and such." Mycroft held on to Sherlock's wrist to keep the teen from slipping away.

Greg gasped at the idea. "No." He said darkly. "No, definitely not."

Sherlock gave Mycroft a look, keeping him on a leash when there were so many interesting things to explore around here. He needed to get the slip on his brother soon…

Mycroft hummed, "I thought so." He led them as they wandered through the market, making purchases here and there. Sherlock eyed the antique mechanics store with an excited gleam in his eyes. Mycroft kept looking at Greg when he wasn't looking, making sure he wasn't making any contacts with any demons in disguise - or even Lucifer.

Greg was just fine brushing people and giving them bad thoughts, sinful thoughts. He quite liked influencing people like that and he was having quite a bit of fun. He looked over at Mycroft with a smile, any thoughts of Mycroft and Sherlock having a plan against him were forgotten. Of course the angel's didn't have a plan for sabotage. Both sides _needed_ this to work out.

Mycroft knew what Greg was doing - but the demon was having so much _fun_ , he didn't have the heart to tell him off (not that it would've been easy to do so anyway). The archangel kept an eye on Greg, and as Sherlock was anchored to him by the wrist, he decided to do a little nudging of his own.

Greg caught Mycroft staring at him. "Hey," He winked saucily at the angel.

Mycroft's eyes widened and before he could say anything, sounds of laughter and shrieks rang and a group of children rushed past them, barely knee-high children running in-between the three. One of the them bumped into Mycroft's leg and tumbled down. He helped the child up and healed his scraped knees enough to stop bleeding.

"Oi!" Greg said as the children ran past. Of course it was Saturday and they wouldn't be in school. _Year round school would be a good idea_. Greg thought, thinking of how much suffering that would cause. Maybe Sherlock would be keen on that idea. He looked over at Sherlock to tell him the good idea but..."Um, Mycroft? Where's Sherlock gotten to?"

Mycroft felt his heart skip a beat. He stared down to his empty hand, half awed and half annoyed. "That _little_ -"


	9. Chapter 9

>   _"Um, Mycroft? Where's Sherlock gotten to?"_
> 
> _Mycroft felt his heart skip a beat. He stared down to his empty hand, half awed and half annoyed. "That little --"_

 

"Sneaky bastard." Greg finished Mycroft's thought. "Alright, let's go find the little bugger and give him a lickin'." He looked around to see if he could catch a glimpse of that black mop of hair, but he saw nothing. "Where'd ya think he's gone?"

Mycroft closed his eyes and reached out to his surroundings. He could see the heart and soul of everyone within the market, and immediately narrowed his search to the only other angelic presence in it. Sherlock was in the antique shop at they passed earlier. "He's in the antique shop. The one with the golden military-related items in the display case."

"Of course, he is." Greg said, grabbing Mycroft's hand and leading him through the crowd. He wasn't afraid to get the crowd to part for him, they were on a mission after all. "Should have bloody known he went in there, he was eyeing it like a hawk earlier."

Mycroft silently followed Greg, still keeping track of Sherlock's presence in case he decides to make a run for it. They quickly approached the shop and Mycroft unconsciously gripped Greg's hand tighter. He knew Sherlock wasn't in trouble, but he worried a little nonetheless.

When they entered the shop, the bell atop the door rang. The shop was small, but well-lit. Aside from the case of military-related items in the very front of the shop, Mycroft could smell a dusty, pleasant smell - some grassy notes with an underlying tone of mustiness. It probably originated from the shelf of old books, visible from how frayed the edges of the covers are. The shelves are dark colored, contrasting with small trinkets, sepia-colored maps and a globe spinning lazily on its axis, helped by a mechanism hidden in its stand. 

"Sherlock, you idiot." Greg said as soon as he saw the young angel.

Sherlock looked over at the two dully. "Well you two were quite...satisfied with being boring, so I took things into my own hands."

The man behind the counter - a father, with relaxed shoulders but back ramrod straight - military training evident from the way his alert eyes swept across Mycroft and Greg for potential threat (understandable, considering they entered the shop hastily). They passed, as evident from the man's kind smile and a chuckle. "Is that your father, Sherlock?"

A boy, shorter than Sherlock but with a confident set to his shoulders and light brown eyes - _military upbringing_ -, stepped beside the teen and looked at him for an answer.

"No, that's my brother and his...friend." Sherlock scoffed audibly. He looked at John, "We were on an outing today, and they were being spectacularly boring so, I left them."

Greg leaned over to Mycroft and whispered, "Bit blind, the old man is."

Mycroft held his sigh of relief and went over to Sherlock, both hands on the teen's shoulders. "Sherlock, please don't do that again." _D_ _on't run out of my sight_ he stared into Sherlock's eyes. _Not until we establish that Greg is not a threat._

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes at his brother's caution. "This is John." He introduced the lad beside him. "He was showing me things around the shop."

Mycroft held out his hand to John for a shake. "Mycroft Holmes. Thank you and sincere apologies for the inconvenience my brother has caused."

John shook Mycroft's hand, smiling back with a little pride from being treated like an adult. "John Watson, at your service. I must admit that Sherlock is many things, Mr Holmes, but an inconvenience is not one."

Mycroft smiled a little and stepped back. "This is Gregory...Luc-Les...trade, my friend."

Greg pinned Mycroft with a look for a couple of seconds then turn to John and nodded to him in greeting.

"Well, I'll be staying here for the rest of the day." Sherlock said quickly. "With John. No need for you two to hover."

Mycroft looked at John - _a well raised, good boy, completely trustworthy with a heart of gold_ -, clasped his hands together and nodded to the boy. "Well then, John, I'm afraid I must... trouble you with keeping Sherlock company while I procure some items we came to the market for. We will not be gone long."

John did a small salute automatically, before turning a slight shade of red and quickly putting his hand down, as if he was embarrassed to have done so in front of a stranger. He usually doesn't slip up easily - but somehow, Sherlock and his brother made him feel comfortable and safe, like he was... protected. Which was silly, because he's the one who's supposed to protect Sherlock. "You can trust me, sir. We will be here when you get back."

Greg looked at the kid. "Yeah, don't let Sherlock bully you into doing anything..." he stopped it there because really, anything that Sherlock would think of to do would probably be bad. The kid seemed to have great ideas for trouble.

"He's just going to show me around the store more." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No need to be so dull."

Mycroft looked at Sherlock with a warning in his eyes. "Stay out of danger. Please." _You're with a human, you can't run off all invincible anymore_. He then turned around to Greg. "Let's go."

Greg nodded, giving Sherlock a hard stare before turning and leading Mycroft out of the store. "So little Sherlock's found a friend. I'm happy for him"

"John's a good one," Mycroft hummed. "It's still a little soon to say, but I think he might become Sherlock's anchor to Earth," he mused as he headed towards the butcher's and started on his list of groceries.

"Anchor to Earth? Is that less important than I'm making it?" Greg asked, walking along with Mycroft.

"It's... uncommon, but not unheard of," Mycroft said quietly. "But sometimes angels find a reason to stay on Earth - which we refer to as 'anchor' -, and they may decide to exchange their immortality for a chance to become human. Live and die along with their anchor."

"Ew." Greg grimaced at that idea. "Why would anyone want that? I mean...if it were the other way 'round, sure, but..."

Mycroft pursed his lips. It would break his heart to see his brother go, but for _Sherlock_ to reach out and _volunteer_ to spend time with someone... maybe it would finally give him the purpose to life, something that mattered to him more than what he was never completely satisfied with. "We'll just see for now. As I said - it's too early to say."  
  
Greg nodded. "Now where to?" He looked back at Mycroft and tilted his head.

Instead of a reply, Mycroft led Greg by his hand as they weaved in and out of the crowd, buying things and ticking them off on his list. There were some truly eccentric shopkeepers in the market: one winked at him and whispered conspiratorially, "Here, have an extra for your gorgeous boyfriend!" "He's not my-" "Just take it, son."; one was more parts mechanic than human flesh, but had the heartiest laugh out of everyone they've met so far; one slouched over his counter, his mechanic eye kept glancing left and right sporadically, as if watching for someone. Most of them were pleased to see a new face and were eager to learn their names, and so Mycroft thought it would only be appropriate if he did the same. 

After about the fourth tiny shop that Mycroft dragged him to, he had to hold all the packages also, Greg was about ready to be done with the outing. "Are we done yet, Myc?" Greg whined.

"Yes, we are." Mycroft chuckled. Without Sherlock to watch over, it was much easier to watch Greg. Greg's whine gave him an idea - _it's all part of the convincing act_ , he told himself - he bent down, whispered "Thank you," by Greg's ear as he took one of the bags, and straightened back before leading their way back to the antique shop.

Greg stopped, watched the angel walk a few steps, licked his lips then went to catch up. He was walking a little more upright now, taking actual steps instead of shuffling his feet. The demon didn't seem to mind being the pack horse for the day, if he got attention like that from the angel.

Mycroft opened the door of the antique shop to... not see Sherlock and John. "The boys are in the back," the shopkeeper - John's father, he assumed - grinned and pointed behind him with his thumb. He nodded a quick thank you and shuffled over to the back of the shop.

"Mr Holmes!" John waved, height barely enough for his head to be seen over stacks of boxes. "Over here!

Meanwhile Greg just lingered in the front of the shop, the bags from all of Mycroft's shopping weighing him down.

Sherlock was sitting on the ground, tinkering with some mechanical bits and completely focused on what he was doing. He didn't even notice his brother walk into the back of the store.

Mycroft approached the boys and crouched down before he could touch any of the parts scattered on the floor. "Sherlock, let's go."

Sherlock, still completely entranced by what he was doing, told Mycroft quietly. "I'm not done here."

Mycroft internally sighed. "You can come back here tomorrow," he suggested. "It will get dark soon."

John, recognizing Sherlock's reluctance to go, decided to help. "Mr Holmes is right, Sherlock. You can come back here tomorrow - I'll be here."

Sherlock blinked up at John and sighed. "Fine." He said, making sure that everyone in the room knew that it was John who ultimately made him leave. He stood up and looked at Mycroft, curiously. "Where's the de....Gerald?"

Mycroft observed the two's interactions thoughtfully as they cleaned up as best they could, putting everything Sherlock was tinkering with into a box. " _Gregory_ is waiting for us in the shop."

"You left him _alone_?" Sherlock hissed quietly at his brother.  "That's stupid, even for you, brother."

"I made sure his hands are all occupied, and he's being watched by John's father," he whispered back discreetly as they made their way out to the front of the shop, "If Lucifer is smart - _and I know he is_ \- I doubt he will make a contact when he's being watched by a human - a careful one, too.

Greg was still where Mycroft left him, shifting uneasily and restlessly on his feet.

"I'm sure Lucifer is completely ostentatious, I'm sure he wouldn't care who was watching." Sherlock told his brother quietly.

Mycroft gave his brother a look to say be quiet and went to Greg immediately. "Let me," he said, reaching out to some of the bags from Greg.

John stayed by his father's side at the counter and smiled cheerfully. "See you tomorrow, Sherlock!"

Sherlock nodded back to John and gave him a little wave before joining Mycroft and Greg outside the shop. "You didn't cause any trouble, did you Gaz?" He asked Greg, glaring up at him.

"No I...It's Greg you little pipsqueak." Greg growled.

Mycroft wordlessly led them out of the market, Sherlock in the middle between him and Greg. The number of crowd has dwindled, the sunset painting the skies with streaks of orange and pink. They were making their way past the last blocks of the market when Sherlock stopped on his tracks. "Sherlock?" Mycroft called out.

Sherlock walked, hypnotized, over to a shop front window, looking inside at the instrument in awe. Without his brother's approval, or even a backward glance, Sherlock went inside.

"Oh what's he doing now?" Greg whined, he just wanted to get home and have some tea, was that so much for a demon to ask for? His back was aching and he just wanted to have a lie down, he could feel his muscles knotting between his shoulders.

Mycroft glanced at Greg apologetically before leading them both to the shop Sherlock entered. It was filled to the brim with some kind of mechanical instrument, gold gleaming in neat rows. Music, his memory supplied. It was a music shop.

Sherlock was already holding the object of his interest. A violin. He plucked at one of the strings. It produced a nice sound.

Greg sighed, looking around the shop. "Honestly I was expecting a harp." He said before he spotted a piano in the corner of the shop. Oh, he knew about those.

"He's never been the typical angel," Mycroft shrugged and went over to Sherlock. "Do you like it?"

Sherlock nodded, plucking at the strings in order. "I want it, Mycroft." He looked at Mycroft with determination in his eyes.

Greg wandered over to the piano and dropped his bags by the bench, pulling it out and sitting down. He plunked on one of the keys.

Mycroft nodded to the shopkeeper and was about to pay when he heard a sound from Greg's direction.

Greg started playing very softly, as it was a soft song that first came to mind. Lucifer was a big fan of the piano and therefore taught him how to play a few songs before he arrived on Earth.

Mycroft stopped and briefly asked for a moment's time to the shopkeeper before walking towards Greg on the piano. He knew that there were arrangements to be made after his purchase and his mind was nowhere near to the transaction to make one without missing potentially important details. He stood by the piano, transfixed by the soft, gentle notes tinkling past him to dance across the room.

Greg was concentrating on the music itself, so he didn't realize Mycroft, or anyone else for that matter, was listening. The music was soft at least for the first two minutes of the ballad, he knew. He hadn't realized how long he had been playing until the song started to pick up.

Mycroft's fingers touched the end of the piano unconsciously and stayed there, as if compelled to feel the vibration of the instrument as notes picked up pace. He barely paid attention to their surroundings beyond the notes, absolutely mesmerized by how pure it sounds.

Greg played for maybe a minute longer then abruptly stopped, remembering where he was. He looked around and saw Mycroft close by, he gave him a half smile and said, "Are we ready to go home now?"

That broke Mycroft out of his reverie. "I was not aware that you could play," he said, a bit embarrassed he was so enraptured before turning to the shopkeeper to pay for the violin. He let Sherlock make sure the rosin, included in the set purchase, was there before thanking the seller and nodding to Greg, "Shall we?"

Greg just shrugged at Mycroft. "It hasn't really come up other than now. It's not really a big deal or anything..." He gathered up the bags and walked over to the door to wait.

Mycroft let Sherlock walk out of the shop in front of them before grabbing some of the bags and quietly murmured "It was beautiful," to Greg. He gave the demon a quick, sincere smile and left to walk alongside Sherlock.

"Thanks." Greg shrugged again and started following them. Once they were out of the shop Greg spoke up again, "Lucifer taught me."

Mycroft didn't falter at that, he expected as much. The young demon, after all, haven't had much exposure to the rest before he was sent to Earth for their...arrangement. He nodded along and just kept walking.

"Are we _finally_ going home now? I'm about ready to faint from exhaustion." Greg started whining again. "I hardly slept last night too, I was too cold, there was no one to snuggle with." He gave a nudge at Mycroft's side.

Mycroft ignored Greg's nudge. "We are," he confirmed. "I do not think it has gotten that cold already, but there are some extra blankets in the cupboard you can use should you wish to."

"Hell's quite a bit hotter than here, if you think about it. I'm almost tropical!" Greg mused.

"He's almost something." Sherlock muttered, satisfied with himself that he got the violin.

"Blanket it is then. Sherlock and I have some extra blankets in our cupboard, hence I assume there will be one in yours too," Mycroft walked up the steps to their building and let themselves in, only to stop in his tracks. There was someone in their flat. A sense of worry crept in for a split second before he recognized the energy signature. It was Ariel.


	10. Chapter 10

 

> _Mycroft walked up the steps to their building and let themselves in, only to stop in his tracks. There was someone in their flat. A sense of worry crept in for a split second before he recognized the energy signature. It was Ariel._

 

"What now?" Greg asked as Mycroft stopped. "Are we going in or what?"

"Quiet, Gertrude." Sherlock snapped, eyes intently on his brother.

"Oi, you're just making things up now." Greg looked back at Sherlock with a frown.

"Oh, apologies. Yes we are, but we have company. Ariel is here - she was in charge of watching over Sherlock when I am otherwise occupied - she must be looking for Sherlock. Please don't worry, I assure you she is not here to cause trouble." Mycroft looked at Greg in the eye before opening the door. “Greetings, Ariel."

Greg's shoulders sunk. Another angel? They were really showing up by the dozen now. He took one glance at Ariel as he walked into the flat before turning and going to the kitchen to put the bags on the table. He didn't need this right now, he really didn't. And if Mycroft was up to something...Greg sighed, he didn't want Mycroft to be up to something but, that was the way it was looking as of the current situation.

Mycroft noticed Greg's slumped shoulders before the demon made his way to the kitchen. He will have to address that later.

The angel smiled brightly and hugged Mycroft. "It is good to see you, Mystriel. Father sends his greetings and blessings." She stepped back and looked at Sherlock, who's standing with Mycroft in her line of vision purposefully - even though he knew it wouldn't work, not in front of a Protector like Ariel. “Hello to you too, Sherlock. Thank you for leaving me in such a _mess,_ it was truly kind of you, really."

Mycroft gave Sherlock a stern gaze.

Sherlock shrugged. "It wasn't a mess exactly..." He looked around the room, evading Ariel and Mycroft's gazes.

Greg decided to stay in the kitchen, listening in while he took the items out of their bags. _Mystriel_ gave him a snort.

"I dearly apologize for the trouble he's caused, Ariel," Mycroft looked up at Ariel apologetically.

She made a small waving motion with her hand. "It's fine, he's our brother after all. And call me Anthea when on Earth, that's what I said to the landlady," she winked. "Anyway, I just wanted to check if Sherlock's with you - I can take him back, if he's disturbing you. And...there's something isn't it. What's the matter?"

"As long as he behaves, like he promised -" Mycroft sent a quick look to Sherlock, "he can stay. And yes. There's... something," he spoke slowly, aware that Greg was still in the kitchen. "It's to do with... my wings. Could you perhaps take a look at it for me?"

"Of course. Is your room upstairs?"

Mycroft nodded. They left, leaving Sherlock in the living room to keep watch over Greg.

The door barely closed shut before Anthea turned on Mycroft and sat him down by the edge of the bed. "What's wrong?" she asked, sharp eyes looking into his for any signs of pain. " _He_ didn't do anything to you, did he?" she sneered, making sure _he_ knew who she meant by he while scanning his body for any injury without touching him. "I know that _demon_ would not stand a chance against you and that's probably why Father chose you, but I swear--"

"He has been good, Ariel. In fact..." Mycroft trailed off, unsure how to start. He told her how Greg has been so keen, how _sincere_ he seems to be and about his almost encounter with Lucifer. By the end she looked to be deep in thought.

"Sincerity is a quality unheard of in demons," she said quietly. "They're always up to something, some cunning trick to tempt more humans to sin, create a worse disaster - to get the upper hand. You know this better than I do. But I see what you mean, Mystriel - if you believe that he's... sincere, then I will trust you. Now, what can I assist you with?"

"I want you to investigate, where possible," he sighed. "I... Notify Father about this too, would you?"

"I will." Anthea looked at Mycroft. He had always been good at hiding his worries and insecurities from Sherlock, but she's worked with him even before Sherlock was born. She knew him, inside out. He's always cared for her - bonds you forge in a battle field were not an easy one to break - and vice versa. "How are you, truly?"

Mycroft knew he wouldn't have been able to hide from her. He looked down to his hands, wrung together in uncertainty. "I want to believe that there is nothing to this 'plan' they mentioned, and we are simply overthinking - but I would rather be too careful than sorry. I...find myself wanting to believe that he is indeed my other half, as the treaty stated, and trust him... but he's a _demon_ , Ariel," he whispered.

Ariel was quiet for a few moments before taking his hands in hers and lifting his chin upwards so that he could see her eyes. "He is different, Mystriel, as you said. His soul... I was distracted when you arrived, but now that you mentioned how different he is, I could tell. He's nothing like those vile creatures we slew in the past," she gripped his hands tighter. "I hope you were right, that this is just nothing after all. But please don't fret, brother. I hate seeing you so distraught."

Mycroft gave her a small smile before changing the topic. "How are things in heaven? Has Uriel finally lost it?" Ariel chattered on for a while before they decided to return downstairs.

Meanwhile, Greg was stuck downstairs with Sherlock. He leaned against the doorway to the kitchen. "So who's this _Ariel_?"

Sherlock was busy with his violin, taking it out of the case and examining again. "She was my...keeper up in Heaven. She was the only one Mycroft would trust with looking after me, she was the only one who could handle me." He plucked at a string then looked over at Greg. "But she's known Mycroft for longer. They were side by side in the war."

Greg nodded, she might be competition for Mycroft's affections, or there might be a larger scheme afoot. There really was little reason why she'd come down here, Greg reasoned, she'd probably already know that Mycroft was okay with Sherlock staying so that whole cover story of 'bringing him back' is bull. And what did they have to talk about that was so secretive? It all smelled a bit fishy to Greg.

"You want to help me start supper?" He asked Sherlock, who was still entranced by the instrument in his hand. "Or not." He turned around when he didn't receive an answer and started picking out what food would go best with potatoes.

Ariel came into the living room giggling from something Mycroft had said about Gabriel's hair care routine, the latter trailing behind her with a smile. Her smile died a little when she saw Greg, but she redirected her attention to Sherlock.

"I must now take my leave. Please behave, Sherlock, I would hate to take you away from your newfound toy there," Ariel tutted. She kissed both of Mycroft's cheeks and he gently kissed her battle-worn knuckles in an angel's goodbye. "Let Father bless you both. Good evening, Lestrade." she called out towards the kitchen before walking out the flat and disappeared without a trace.

Greg, of course, saw the exchange and silently fumed. He turned his back to the now two angels in the flat and continued chopping up some vegetables. If that was how it was going to be with Mycroft, then that was how it was going to be.

Mycroft went into the kitchen and saw Greg's tense shoulders. He must be more disturbed by Ariel's appearance than he thought.  "Gregory," he walked towards the other man. "I'm sorry about Ari- Anthea's abrupt appearance. She was just concerned for Sherlock, as he is somewhat too good at disappearing and erasing his signatures."

Greg looked over at Mycroft casually. "What? Oh, it's fine. Have as many of your angel friends down here as you want." He said sarcastically, placing the vegetables on a tray and then in the oven.

Mycroft frowned. "You misunderstand. She is an exception," he stepped closer to Greg, unsure. "I hope you understand that I care a great deal about Sherlock's wellbeing, and she knows that I would worry had I known he was missing and he wasn't here."

"But she knew that he was here, _with you_ , yet she came anyway." Greg said, tilting his head, "I'm not stupid, Mycroft." From the living room, Sherlock scoffed audibly.

"She did not. We are not omniscient, Gregory. She came to look for him." Mycroft tried again, starting to get frustrated.

"Alright," Greg said, not believing a word of it. "I'm cooking dinner so..." He gave Mycroft a look that said: you're not needed here.

Mycroft pursed his lips, hurt flashed in his eyes for a second before he took the paper he picked up earlier today and left the kitchen. He didn't want to leave Sherlock alone with the demon, so he just sat in the living room, his frustration leaving him so unfocused he needed to read a line several times before understanding it.

With the veg in the oven and the potatoes boiling on the stove, Greg had to look and see what the main entree would be. The meat that Mycroft got looked too good to eat, but he didn't want to have a fried egg again. With a spurt of impulse, he took the meat and began to slice it. His idea was to half the size of the meat so they had more of it for later on.

With a quick check to the veg in the oven, Greg got out a pan and some oil in order to start cooking the meat. Of course, everyone knows that cooking over an open fire brings the best flavor to food, so Greg thought he would give the angels a little bit of home. He turned on another burner on the stove and turned the flame up before starting to cook the meat in the pan.

Once the potatoes seemed reasonably soft enough, he took them off the heat and drained them. Greg cut a slice through each one and put them on the three plates. He turned his attention back to the meat, it browning nicely in the pan. With a minute or two left on the veg in the oven, Greg just stood back and watched the meal come to completion.

Mycroft went to stand by the doorway to watch Greg quietly, the latter unaware of the angel's presence.

Suddenly Sherlock yelled from the living room. "Is the food ready yet?"

"Yeah, almost." Greg yelled back, reaching into the oven and grabbing out the pan. He plated up the veg and meat, happy about the presentation on the plates, and brought them the few steps over to the table.

Sherlock walked past Mycroft. "Finally." Mycroft sat across Sherlock and quietly watched Greg as he worked.

"Ta-da!" Greg said as he sat the plates before the others before sitting down himself. "Hopefully it's better than whatever last night's meal was." Sherlock was tempted to dig in already, but he knew not to.

Mycroft quietly led prayers. He said thanks briefly, before ending it with Our Lord's prayer.  "Thank you for making dinner, Gregory." he said.

Greg rolled his shoulders in discomfort as Mycroft and Sherlock prayed. It left a bad taste in his mouth and he hadn't even started eating yet.  Greg shrugged it off with a...shrug. "Well, you were busy and I was hungry so."

"I think we can all agree you've done a much better job on it than I can." Mycroft smiled, cutting into his meat.

"I know." Greg said stabbing a carrot stick with his fork and bringing it up to his mouth. He knew he was being kind of an asshole to Mycroft but...he kinda deserved it, going behind Greg's back and all with that other angel. He felt betrayed.

Mycroft sighed internally and kept eating. The demon is now just being difficult and he has no wish to fight over the dinner table.

Sherlock scoffed again but he was actually _eating_ this time.

"Sherlock, just a heads up, if I hear that bloody violin at night when I'm trying to sleep, I _will_ come down here and burn it right in front of you." Greg said casually, then took a bite of his potato. Sherlock's eyes went wide. Mycroft hid his laughter with a cough. "I'm not buying you another one if you break this one." he added.

Sherlock gave Mycroft an incredulous look saying 'you're _supposed_ to be looking out for me! Not _agreeing_ with the demon!'

"Speaking of instruments, do you play anything _Mystriel?_ " Greg looked over at Mycroft with a smug look on his face.

"Call me Mycroft, please. Calling me Mystriel makes me feel like I'm being watched by a million angels up in heaven." Mycroft looked up. "As to an instrument, well, take a guess."

"Honestly? A harp?" Greg guessed, eyebrow raised. "Either that or none at all, you seem the more...serious type that doesn't take to the arts well."

Mycroft took a very deep breath. Patience. "I play the harp, but I prefer cello better."

"Alright, I don't think I have any more to say on that front." Greg said, digging into his meat. Although he was still feeling a bit woozy from all he could guess was the praying Mycroft and Sherlock had done before the meal.

"Do you have anything you want to do tomorrow?" Mycroft asked.

"Sleep in, definitely." Greg said, talking with his mouth full. "Definitely haven't been sleeping as much as I'd like." Meanwhile, Sherlock tried not to stare in disgust at Greg.

Mycroft just nods and finishes his food. He felt rather tired from the day and would really rather sit in his room away from _stubborn_ demons, but he knew he couldn't leave Greg alone in case he was going to make contact with hell. He swallowed his last bit  and collected his plate to wash.

Greg scraped his plate clean and brought it over to Mycroft at the sink. "Mine too? Ta." He gave a cheeky grin and retreated into the living room to lay down on the couch before Sherlock got a chance to spread his lengthy body across it.

"Is it just me, or is he being more of an arse?" Sherlock asked, taking more time in eating his food, inspecting every little bite of it.

"He is." Mycroft washed their plates and dried them on the side. "He's not happy Ariel was here. I'll...send a message to remind them not to come unless there is an emergency in the future."

"Why?" Sherlock asked. "He needs to get used to it, if anything. He can't just...forbid your family from visiting you. Of course, I suppose that would go in the opposite direction as well." He mused.

Mycroft turned to face Sherlock and leaned back. "It makes him anxious. I'd rather not make him uncomfortable in his own house."

"Is he anxious because it's angels or because he's hiding something?" Sherlock crossed his arms. "I think we know the answer to that."

Mycroft fixed Sherlock with a stare. "I don't need you to worry me further. I have Ariel on it."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "If you say so," and headed into the living room to pluck away more at his violin.

Mycroft walked into the room to see Greg asleep on the couch, his head propped up on the armrest. The demon looked almost angelic when asleep, free from the frown that was occupying his face since Ariel appeared. Mycroft padded over slowly, his hand gently pulling a loose strand of hair away from his face.

"Sentiment," Sherlock muttered from across the room, followed by a violin string pluck.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at Sherlock to be quiet. Ariel gave him a book on human history along with two blankets with pattern patches earlier, saying it was a 'housewarming gift' from their brothers and sisters. He went to his room to take one, patted it to make sure it didn't have any angel dust on it (the younger angels tend to be a bit enthusiastic), and returned to see Greg still sleeping soundly on the couch. He gently covered Greg with the blanket, cautious of waking him up in the process. Greg only shifted slightly during the exchange.

Sherlock watched as Mycroft put the blanket on the demon. Once his brother turned around, Sherlock gave him a look. "Why are you pretending that you care?"

Mycroft pursed his lips. "Caring is not an advantage - especially with demons," he said in a low voice, careful of waking Greg as he sat in the armchair. "But I find myself wanting to care for him anyway."

"Because he's your _soulmate_?" Sherlock asked in a mocking tone, not caring about the volume of his voice. "It was a stupid thing to ask you to do, who ever thought of tying a demon and an angel together?"

"Father agreed on it, hence you should not mock the treaty, just like how you would never question His authority," Mycroft said in a stern voice. "it's in our best interests for this arrangement to succeed. I simply wish to stop more bloodshed in the future."

Sherlock lowered his head a little at that. "I'm sorry...I just don't understand how they made a _demon_ specifically for an _archangel_. Fundamentally, it doesn't work." On the couch, Greg turned so that his back was facing the two.

"You must have heard what Father said of the treaty," Mycroft sighed. "Proving that it does work will consolidate peace on both realms. It will help leave Father's 'greatest creation' to actually flourish, instead of perish every time our arrows miss and hits Earth as balls of fire instead."

"That doesn't answer my question, brother." Sherlock said. "I'm not talking about the fact that it will work or not, I'm talking about how making a _demon_ for an _archangel_ goes against everything demon's stand for. Gerard here was _made_ for you, Mycroft, yet he's a demon, yet he can't be _that much_ of a demon if he was _made_ for you. Do you see what I'm saying? How can this whole situation prove anything when it was rigged from the start?"

"He has enough of a demon in him for Lucifer to consider him a representative of hell. That's enough for me, and I will take him however he is."

"Even if he's against you?" Sherlock asked, referring to the plan that they had uncovered.

Mycroft was quiet for a while. "If...and only if, he's against us, then I'll face him," he looked towards Greg. "It's only fitting." Sherlock said nothing more that evening about it.


	11. Chapter 11

Mycroft saw Greg's sleeping form on the couch when they were about to head out to church, head still propped up on the armrest. He would've left without waking the other, but he did not want to incite suspicion in the demon regarding their whereabouts. He crossed the room quietly and wrote a note stating where they will be and when they should be back. He left the note on the low table by the couch, and left the flat. The church bells were calling them.

About an hour after the two angels left, Greg woke from his slumber. He flat was quiet, he was automatically suspicious. That was, until he found the note. "Bloody church, honestly." He crumpled it up and tossed it across the room. Just as he was stretching, there was a knock on the door. With a scratch of his head, he went over to answer it. "Morning, Mrs. Hudson..."

"Good morning to you too, dear! Mr Holmes and the younger one told me they were going to church today so I thought you could keep me company! If that is fine with you, of course," Mrs Hudson smiled brightly.

Greg knew exactly why Mycroft had asked for Mrs. Hudson to come over, they wanted to keep an eye on him. "Yeah of course!" He put on a large smile. "Come on inside."

Mrs Hudson came in and sat on the armchair. "Oh, you're so lovely. It's been so long since I had such lovely tenants, and even longer since I could talk about the two realms without being seen as a lunatic! Tell me, how are things with Mr Holmes? I saw you both in the market the other day, holding hands and all, it reminds me of my own good old days with Gerard..."

"Tea?" Greg asked, wandering into the kitchen. "We're...fine I guess." He said putting the kettle on and walking back to the living room. "I feel like he's...keeping something from me. I don't know, maybe I'm imagining it or something."

"Ooh, yes please, that would be perfect," she looked around the flat from her seat, fascinated. "Keeping something from you? Oh dear, that doesn't sound good. Gerard and I never kept anything from each other... If we ever think we might be misunderstanding the other, we would always address it.'Communication is key to all relationships' , I always used to say to my children, without it nothing would last as long as my marriage with my dearest... "

"Yeah," Greg crossed his arms. "I'm...afraid to bring it up though, in case I'm right. I don't want to be right, not about this."

"Dearest, fear is your greatest enemy," she sighed, putting her hand on her heart. "and trust is your greatest ally. If you want your relationship to last, you have to trust in them and brave yourself to ask, even if you're scared of the answer."

The kettle sounded and Greg walked back into the kitchen to fix the tea. A few moments later, he walked back into the living room with two cups. He handed a cup to Mrs. Hudson and sat across from her with his own. "But...what if the answer destroys...everything?" He asked sincerely. "What if I want to live in ignorant bliss until the time comes that...it all breaks down?"

"Thank you for the tea, dear," she smiled. "I know you may not admit it, but when fear takes root, it does that deeply. It will slowly taint your interactions with each other, like black ink spreading in water, until every move is suspicious to you and it's too late to save it."

Greg sighed. "It's a bit like that already. What if he doesn't want to answer me when I ask him what's wrong? What if...what if he's already against me?"

Mrs Hudson shifted forward to sit on the edge of her seat and placed one hand on Greg's knee. "Be honest to them, and they will reciprocate with honesty. If you've done your part, and they don't reciprocate... Well, I'd say you deserve better," she winked. "Both of you complement each other, and there is no one else in the world who would be better suited for you than he is - and vice versa. Mr Holmes is a smart man, he must know that you are special. He will not let you go without putting a fight.”

"That's what I'm hoping." Greg said, nodding. "I really _do_ want this to work. But sometimes Mycroft is so...stiff. I mean I get that he's an angel and all and emotions are really sought after up there, but..." He shrugged. "I dunno, I just thought this would be more of a _relationship_ and not just living together and tolerating each other."

Mrs Hudson was quiet for a moment before she giggled. "Oh dear, you have a long way to go," she smiled wistfully. "The only kind of relationship angels know is that of a father-child and brother- or sisterhood. Especially for Mr Holmes - he has never been aware of anything beyond his duty to God or to that little brother of his. It's not that he doesn't want to have a romantic relationship, it is that he doesn't know _how_ to."

Greg opened his mouth and mouthed 'oh'. "That....puts things in perspective. And definitely explains a lot...how do I fix it? He's rejected my advances before..."

"Court him, silly!" she winked. "Start from the beginning. Take him on dates. Traditionally you would need a chaperone, but I don't think that's necessary in your case. Leave him little notes, trinkets, things that would make him smile - so he knows that you thought of him. Be sincere, and he will eventually open his heart to you."

Greg nodded. "How about I pick him some flowers? Or...get some flowers, I don't know if there's any fields nearby to pick them...Or I could bake him something? Or try to at least...he likes apple candies, so maybe an apple pie?"

Mrs Hudson smiled brightly. "That sounds like a brilliant idea, my dear."

"Will you help me bake it? I don't think I-" There was a knock on the front door again. Greg frowned. "Um..." He stood up and went over, opening it up to reveal Lucifer holding a houseplant. Greg's face fell. "What are you doing here?"

"It occured to me that I never gave you a house warming present." Lucifer said with a grin, holding the plant out to Greg. "May I come in?"

Greg took the plant and shrugged. "I guess." He stepped aside to let the devil in.

Lucifer, of course, knew exactly who else was in the flat. "Oh....Martha? Martha is that you?" He asked, stepping slowly over to Mrs. Hudson.

Mrs Hudson's eye widened. "Luci... Is that you?" her eyes turned glassy, her hand slowly reaching up to touch Lucifer's face as if it would disappear like an illusion. "I... I never thought I would see you again..."

Lucifer gave her a big smile. "After all these years....I told you, you wouldn't get away from me that easy."

Having sat the plant down on the coffee table, Greg cleared his throat. "You know each other? How?"

Lucifer looked back at him. "Little do you know that your landlady was a saucy minx when she was younger."

Mrs Hudson walked over to Lucifer and waved for him to bend down. "Let me see you, Luci. I still can't believe my eyes." Lucifer bent down and she traced his jawline reverently. "All these years, and you have not aged a day... Unlike me and Gerard. Although with his case, I suppose I am at fault."

"Yes, you did make your angel fall into your arms that day." Lucifer said, "I'm just sorry it wasn't me."

Greg blinked, not really believing the scene in front of him. So Mrs. Hudson's husband, Gerard, was an angel, and she was his anchor? And Lucifer was the _other man_ that she _didn't_ choose? Even going over it in his head, Greg still couldn't believe it.

"Regardless, you look as beautiful as ever, my dear."

She tutted. "You flatter me, handsome. You're as charming as always, even back in the day the girls were all falling over themselves for a chance to be seen by you," she winked.

The door suddenly opened and Mycroft walked into one of the most bizarre sights he's ever seen: Greg, on the side wide-eyed with horror and shock; Lucifer, in the middle of the room, bending down to Mrs Hudson's reach; Mrs Hudson herself, one hand on Lucifer's cheek and the other over her heart. He stopped in his tracks and Sherlock bumped into his back. There's a new potted plant on the table, cheerful and unassuming in the midst of everything.

Greg opened and then closed his mouth again, of course Mycroft would pick this time to show up. "Hello Mycroft."

Lucifer took Mrs. Hudson's hand and placed a gentle kiss there. "We'll talk later, my dear. And do take care of my boy, will you?" He let go of her hand and stood, turning to face Mycroft. "Good morning." He said with a grin. "How was church?"

Mycroft smiled back a little too forcefully. "Good morning. It was good, thank you. Enlightening as always." his eyes darted quickly to Greg before looking away. "If you would excuse me," he looked down and slipped away towards the kitchen.

"Oh my, I think it's time for my herbal soothers. Sherlock, accompany me down the stairs, would you?" Mrs Hudson smiled, her hand lifted towards Sherlock as if expecting him to say yes already. Sherlock knew better than to argue, especially after Mycroft's response to Lucifer being in the flat - so he accompanied Mrs. Hudson downstairs.

Lucifer looked from Mycroft's fleeting figure to Greg. "Oh dear, it looks like I better go. I rather not be here for a...lover's spat." He gave Greg a smile then made his exit.

Greg let out a big breath. Just when things started to look up for him. He could swear Lucifer did it on purpose. After the devil was gone, Greg followed Mycroft. "Mycroft, hold on. What's wrong with you?"

"I could ask you the same." Mycroft said in a clipped tone.

"What? Is it because Lucifer was here?" Greg asked pointing behind him. "He just brought us a plant, it's a house warming present."

"Of course the _King of Hell, ruler of all demons_ just came to our humble abode to give us a _housewarming present._ " Mycroft's eyes narrowed. "Do you think I'm that _gullible_?"

"But...you saw the plant, it was on the coffee table." Greg said, frowning. "What are you going on about?”

Mycroft crossed his arms. _Deep breaths in, deep breaths out._ "Do you think I won't know that's a cover? You must think I'm so stupid."

"A cover? For what, exactly?" Greg asked, "Oh you mean just like Ariel coming over was just to see Sherlock?"

"Cover for what?" Mycroft frowned. "She did come to see Sherlock. He slipped out on her and left her in a mess she needed to sort before looking for him here. I told you all of this yesterday, if you weren't listening."

"Yeah and you and her went up to the bedroom to talk about _Sherlock_ , sure." Greg crossed his arms as well. "What are you up to? I thought you _wanted_ this to work? You said last night, you'd take me however I was."

Mycroft's eyes widened. "You were not supposed to hear that." He narrowed his eyes. "How much did you hear?"

"Most of it." Greg said. "Doesn't matter. What does matter is that you think I'm...up to something? I'm planning something with Lucifer? Why?"

Mycroft pursed his lips. He didn't want to show his upper hand so quickly, but...lying has never been in his nature. Nor is delaying the inevitable. He looked away. "... I saw you talking to him in the store. He said 'Things are going according to the plan.' I see no other way to interpret that but that you and Lucifer are planning something against us...against me."

Greg paused for a second and looked at Mycroft. "That..." He shook his head. "According to plan, meaning that it was all going well. That we were getting along well. There was never any plan except for this, us, to work out. Yeah, he told me to have fun and all, and I'm sure there's a betting pool in hell about when we're going to... _you know_ , but there was never any _plot_ against you."

Mycroft stared at Greg. On one hand, he felt so _relieved_ , but on one hand, he felt absolutely horrible - he had accused Greg of plotting against him. "I'm... I apologize. I just thought... I..." he shook his head. "You were so...nice to me. Demons are _never_ nice, to an angel, no less... without wanting something. However, you seemed so sincere each time, which made me doubt - alas, I needed to be careful. 'It's better to be careful than sorry'. I'm sorry I misjudged the situation."

"And you're not...planning anything, are you? And you and Ariel?" Greg asked, he had to be sure. Mycroft shook his head. "She was just worried about me. We fought in the war together...she could read me 'like an open book,' I believe the saying goes. I asked her to investigate where possible, but she knew of my doubt and trusted my judgment. She is my sister, nothing more nor less."

Greg sighed, relieved. "Well, I guess we were being horrid to each other for no reason at all, huh?" He smiled. "And for the record, I'll take you however you are too. Even if your brother's a bit of a brat."

Mycroft chuckled, his cheeks slightly red. "Apologies. I've always been cautious with demons. And... Well, you _are_ one of a kind, Gregory."

Greg gave a shrug. "Well, can't argue with that." He stepped closer to Mycroft, his arms falling to his side. "Could I...?" He leaned in and gave Mycroft a quick peck on the cheek. "I'm going to court you, Mycroft Holmes."

Mycroft's face turned red, brighter than the shade of his hair. "I...believe that in courting tradition, you were supposed to _ask_ for permission, not just declare your intent," he smiled a little. "Not that I would ever be able to convince you otherwise."

Greg gave a shrug, “Would you call _either_ of us, _traditional?_ Regardless, may I court you?” He gave a dramatic bow.

“I'm not used to any of this - romantic love has never been an important aspect of an angel's life. I may make you hate me at the end of everything- but I'm willing to try." he looked at Greg's eyes. "With you, that is."

"I'm sure I won't _hate_ you."  Greg said with a smile. "I mean I was made for you and all." He shrugged. "We belong together."

 


	12. Chapter 12

"Sherlock, let's _go._ You're just stalling now and I won't have it." Mycroft scoffed, arms crossed as he stood by the front door. He was wearing a black suit and even darker trousers, with matching grey tie and waistcoat. It was sharp enough for an assistant, but not too much as to not attract undue attention.

"I don't _want_ to go to school, it's going to be so boring and the children are so _stupid_." Sherlock whined, his shoulders slumped.

"Skip some grades, then. Complete it faster if you don't want to deal with them." Mycroft raised his eyebrow. "John might go to the same school as you, now that I think of it."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, it was a good possibility that John Watson would make it all worth it. "Fine," He said after a few seconds.

Greg came out of the kitchen with his cup of tea. "Great, because if I have to work, you have to... school..." He nodded and took a sip of the tea. It was too early to be alive much less be awake.

"I should be back at 5, and I'll pick him up from school today," Mycroft stopped on the doorway to look at Greg, his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Is there anything you would like me to purchase on the way back?"

"Not that I can think of...We might be running out of eggs, come to think about it...And while you're there, look at the meat again? I mean if its...too expensive don't buy it." Greg shrugged, draining his tea in one big gulp and going back into the kitchen to put it in the sink.

The corner of Mycroft's lips twitched in amusement at Greg's groggy response. "Alright. Well... see you later," and he left, Sherlock in tow.

As soon as Mycroft and Sherlock left, Greg groaned. He really really really didn't want to do this. But in order to get money to buy Mycroft presents, he was going to have to. He puffed out his chest and went over to the door, giving one last look over his non-working life before leaving the flat and going to the police station.

* * *

 Mycroft came into the flat and began putting away things he bought on the way to pick up Sherlock from school. "Well, I thought you'd last at least the first day without getting into a fight, but I suppose I was wrong."

"John was there." Was all Sherlock said in explanation.

Greg, on the other hand, shuffled into the flat and fell face down on the sofa with a groan. "Don't make me go back out there."

"Hello to you too, Gregory." Mycroft called out from the kitchen, already fixing tea from the three of them. He set the tray on the table in front of the couch Greg has hid himself in. "How was your day?"

"Awful." Greg murmured into the sofa cushions. "Everyone was flirting with me. Absolutely everyone, which is fine, but take a bloody hint."

Mycroft's hands halted imperceptibly. "You're new, and not unattractive." he sat on the armchair and sipped his tea. "It was to be expected."

Greg turned his head to look over at Mycroft. "Bet you got flirted a lot too today, didn't you?"

Sherlock hide a laugh and started pulling his homework from his bag.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "I met many people today, some of which I recognize from the papers before. They were on varying spectrums of good or evil but they all seemed...nice. Enough to accept me into their midst."

"Nice? Just nice? You didn't get flirted with _at all._ " Greg said, not believing it. "But you're gorgeous, how do people not see that?"

Sherlock stifled a laugh again.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "You're biased, Gregory. I don't think the rest of the population holds the same opinion as you - they were just kind, a little insistent at times but perfectly fine."

"I don't believe it." Greg shook his head and turned to Sherlock. "And what are you giggling about over there?"

Sherlock made his face blank, "Well, it _is_ well known that Mycroft isn't the _best_ looking angel in the garrison."

Mycroft glared at Sherlock before sending a look to Greg that said ' _I told you so_ '.

"Well...everyone else needs to get some taste." Greg huffed, burrowing back inside the sofa cushions.

Sherlock snorted.

"How was school, Sherlock?" Mycroft began untying his tie and shrugged off his waistcoat. He settled into the armchair with some work he brought home.

"Boring." Sherlock answered. "I corrected the teacher twice when it was math time, and I'm sure at least half the students are illiterate."

"Sounds like you're on your way to make new friends, then." Mycroft remarked, slightly unfocused as he was reading a scandal involving someone he saw in passing earlier that day.

Greg laughed from the sofa, turning his head so the angel's could hear him properly. "You didn't listen to what he just said, did you?" He sat up and stretched, then noticed there was tea and grabbed it like it was gold.

"He doesn't usually." Sherlock replied. "It's all very boring anyway."

Mycroft just hummed, his mind on the papers in front of him more than the people beyond them. "I do listen to you, Sherlock. I'd say it's the opposite is true."

"Hmm, I'll get naked now then." Greg said suddenly, wanting to see if Mycroft was _truly_ listening.

Mycroft was reading quietly before what Greg said registered and he stopped shuffling the next pages. He narrowed his eyes at Greg. "Feel free to do that in _our bedroom_."

Greg grinned. "Only if you join me, darling."

Sherlock made a retching sound.

Mycroft cocked his head. "Why would I join you to--oh. Well. N-No, thank you." he held up his papers again, as if burying the slight tinge of red on his cheeks.

"Worth a shot." Greg shrugged.

"Yes, now never bring anything like that up again and everything will be wonderful." Sherlock said slyly.

Mycroft ignored Sherlock completely at that point in favor of his work.

"Have you watered the plant today?" Greg asked, getting up and going over to the window to open it. He picked up a cigarette and offered one to Sherlock, who quickly took it and joined him by the window. They both lit up with a sigh.

Mycroft chuckled a little to himself at the sound of their twin sighs and continued working.


	13. Chapter 13

Hours and days started blurring together. Mycroft could feel that one of these days his polite smile will be etched permanently on his face. Greg was right - politicians can be so _vile_ , but he did what he could. Half of his coworkers admired his efficiency and intelligence, and the other half despised him for it. _Jealousy_ _is a indeed an unfortunate human trait_ , he mused to himself once.

John started walking home with Sherlock, as Mycroft's hours started to end later and fluctuate. Two weeks after Sherlock started school, Mycroft walked in to see John on the couch, watching Sherlock fiddle with his violin. He took off his coat and turned to the blonde-haired boy. "Good evening, John."

John startled slightly and turned towards Mycroft. "Good evening, Mr Holmes!"

Greg emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hand on a dish towel. "John are you staying for supper?" He noticed Mycroft was home and he winked at him.

Mycroft frowned at Greg strangely. John glanced at Sherlock, unsure if he would be welcome to stay, but Sherlock doesn't seem anywhere close to finishing soon- "You're welcome to stay if you want, John." Mycroft added.

Greg nodded, "I've been wanting to test out how my food tastes...with other people." He said awkwardly. "Oh and we have apple pie for dessert." He finished quickly, walking back into the kitchen.

John brightened and thanked both Mycroft and Greg before going back to watching Sherlock.

Mycroft perked up slightly. He took some of the work he brought and followed Greg into the kitchen. He might as well keep Greg company, since Sherlock and John were occupied.

The apple pie was cooling on the table. Greg searched in the fridge to find what he could possibly cook for everyone for dinner. He had been the one who had been cooking recently, considering Mycroft's...talent for it.

Mycroft eyed the pie and kept his hands to himself, busying his hands with his papers. "Did you make this on your own?"

"Oh, um, Mrs. Hudson helped me with it since I didn't know how to make one." Greg said, getting out some meat, veg, and potatoes from the fridge.

Mycroft hummed appreciatively. "I'll make sure to thank her, then." he murmured as a note to himself.

"You wanna help me chop up some veg? Or are you too busy working?" Greg asked, looking over his shoulder at Mycroft.

Mycroft looked up, slightly startled that Greg addressed him in the kitchen. "I can help - I just thought... since last time you didn't..."

"What?" Greg asked, blinking at him.

"You were quite adamant that you didn't want me to help, last time."

Greg thought back, "Wasn't that...that was right when Anthea had left, I was angry and...jealous." He said then shrugged, "It's different now."

Mycroft looked at Greg carefully before putting his papers aside, safe from any possible mess. "If you are sure, I'd be happy to help. What do you want me to do?"

"Chop." He handed Mycroft a knife handle first. "The potatoes, doesn't have to be perfect, I'm going to cream them up after they cook." Greg rolled over a few potatoes that he'd already washed.

Mycroft dutifully obliged and they worked in amicable silence. "Where do you want me to do after I'm done...?"

"Fill a pot with water, and put the potatoes on the heat." Greg said, busying himself with the vegetables, chopping up broccoli, cabbage, and carrots.

Mycroft did as instructed, unconsciously humming to himself while he does so.

Greg looked over at him as he heard him humming. "Cute." He leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Look at us, being all domestic."

Mycroft turned his back on Greg to clean up what he could, but Greg could see the tip of Mycroft's ears turning red.

Greg smiled as he placed all the vegetables in a bowl and tossed them together.

Mycroft tended to the boiling pot of water and put the potatoes in before turning the heat down slightly so it doesn't boil over.

"How do you think Sherlock and John are getting along out there, they're awfully quiet...especially for Sherlock." Greg asked, he was honestly afraid to look out into the living room for fear that the boys were dead...or worse.

Mycroft placed the wooden spoon across the mouth of the pot before looking over into the living room to see what they were up to. Sherlock was grumbling about something to do with school while tinkering on something mechanical-looking. John was holding things up for him, doing his homework while asking Sherlock some questions he had difficulties with. "Sherlock is tinkering and ranting about his school. I do hope he is not planning to build an explosive."

Greg just looked at him for a second, then realized he was serious. "Why would he want to build that? I mean...there's nothing interesting to blow- oh..." The school. Crafty. Greg couldn't say he blamed him honestly.

"Don't get ideas from him," Mycroft glanced at Greg from the corner of his eyes as he stirs his pot of potatoes, taking a cube and finding it soft enough to mash.

"Me? Get ideas from him?" Greg scoffed. "I'm the demon here." He glanced at the potatoes and nodded. "Put some milk in it, should make it better to mash up."

Mycroft drained the potatoes, leaving them in the pot before putting in some milk. Some of the water splashed on his white shirt, but he barely noticed it. "Should we add some cheese?

"...Sure." Greg nodded. "Sounds good to me." He went over to get the meat in the fridge and started to slice it up to make it go farther.

Mycroft hummed absentmindedly to himself. He only had to think of some of his more...persistent colleagues and before he knew it, the potatoes were mashed thoroughly. He added a little bit of cheese and mixed it all together.

"Good." Greg said, grabbing a pan and some oil and turning the stove top on, and the heat on high. As he let the oil start to heat, he seasoned the meat.

Mycroft leaned on the dining table slightly to get out of Greg's way. "Is there anything else you'd like me to do?"

"Hm, you could start plating stuff up?" Greg said, tossing the meat on the pan and letting it cook.

Mycroft reached up to get some plates from the cupboard and set the table, plating enough mashed potatoes and vegetables on each plate.

"And start the tea too? You're a doll." Greg grinned widely at him.

Mycroft wordlessly put the kettle on and took out the teapot Mrs Hudson gifted them with a couple of days ago. At that point Greg's habit of calling him sweet things had become somewhat of a background noise; Mycroft figured it was just in his nature to say such things and Greg didn't really mean anything special.

With the meat almost done, Sherlock and John wandered into the kitchen and sat down at the table. "Smells done, I'm starved," Sherlock said, not taking his eyes off John.

"Thank you for making dinner, Mr Holmes, Mr Lestrade," John sat beside Sherlock.

Greg plated the finished meat and brought two of the four plates to the table, sitting them in front of the boys. "Well, you're lucky it wasn't just Mr. Holmes. Sherlock and I've suffered that fate." He nodded to Sherlock.

Mycroft ignored the jab, after living with Sherlock and the demon for a while he's learnt to not take it to heart. John looked a bit fidgety, but he didn't mention it.

Greg brought the remaining plates over and sat down. Now all they needed was the tea, and that was almost done, and they could eat.

Mycroft poured tea for each cup and distributed them before sitting in his seat beside Greg. "Let's pray," he bowed his head.

Sherlock bowed his head and clasp his fingers together. Greg just fiddled with his fork.

While Mycroft led prayers quietly, John fiddled with his clasped hands. He knew he was supposed to pray, but his father had never been a religious man - the war shook his faith and he never quite recovered - and so he was at quite a loss of what to do.

Greg looked over and saw that John was in a similar state of awkwardness during the prayer. At least he wasn't alone on that front. His shoulders started to slouch, the meal in front of him didn't looks so appetizing all of a sudden.

John was surprised that Sherlock was religious - it was unexpected, but not entirely impossible. He looked up and noticed that Greg had his eyes open and gradually began looking ill as they continued with his prayers. He wanted to mention it, but waited until Mycroft ended the prayer.

"Mr Lestrade, are you alright?"

"Huh?" Greg looked up. "Yeah...I'm fine. Why?"

Mycroft looked at John, but the boy was focused on Greg. "You looked rather ill," he said.

Greg shook his head. "I'm fine. I've never gotten ill in my life." He picked up his fork and knife. "Honest."

John didn't look convinced but decided to let go this time. They ate with a bit of chatter until John decided to bite the bullet and address what has been on his mind throughout the day. "Mr Holmes, Mr Lestrade..."

Greg had been good and didn't talk with his mouth open, something that Mycroft had told him was not...polite, so when John started his question, he was helpless to answer with his mouth full of potatoes.

"Are you both um... You know... _together_?" John gasped. "Not that there is any problem with that, of course!"

Greg looked over at Mycroft, mouth still full of potatoes. He swallowed quickly and looked back at John. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

John turned red. "I was just wondering! Definitely nothing wrong with that, sir, not that all!" he fiddled with his hands. "I was just um, curious. 'Cuz you're living in a two bedroom apartment and Sherlock's. Well, Sherlock. "

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "We are family friends, sharing a living arrangement as accommodation costs in London is no small matter. Sherlock stays with me, naturally." John's blush did not recede.

"And um, well, I saw Mr Lestrade kiss your cheek, Mr Holmes. It's really alright, I assure you! People may be... um, disapproving, but I think it's really nice that you uh...keep it despite that.!"

Greg tried to stifle his laugh at John's response. "Thanks for reassuring us, John." He gave him a smile. "Mycroft's just too _proper_ to share a bed with me." He nudged the angel with his elbow.

Mycroft barely could keep his eyes from rolling in exasperation, a slight tinge of red dusting his cheeks.

Greg smiled at Mycroft's blush. "He'll come around." He muttered, then said louder, "So how's school coming along for you, John? You know you're the main reason why Sherlock goes."

Sherlock started to flush as well.

"It's brilliant, sir!" John brightened at the change of topic. "Especially now that Sherlock is in my class. He's so smart."

"He hasn't been getting in trouble, has he? I mean, he has you to keep him in line after all." Greg said, stabbing his meat.

"Well, aside from uh, a little... hiccup on his first day..." John glanced at Sherlock from the corner of his eyes, "there's been no trouble, sir."

"What happened on his first day? He's neglected to tell us." Greg said shooting Sherlock a look.

John looked at Sherlock. He didn't want to tell on him if the teen didn't tell his brother in the first place.

Sherlock sighed. "It wasn't a hiccup, someone wanted to make a fool of themselves and I let them have the opportunity."

Greg narrowed his eyes at the cherub.

Mycroft gave Sherlock a stern gaze and a raised eyebrow, as if asking for more details. The cherub had always gotten into his fair share of trouble, even in heaven.

Sherlock gave an even greater sigh. "He wanted to fight me and the teacher had to seperate us. I was winning."

"Well as long as you were winning." Greg said sarcastically.

"It is unwise to be so easily provoked, dear brother." Mycroft said slowly, cutting his meat elegantly. "Don't rise up to a challenge with fists; rather, compete with intelligence. Anyone who cannot fight you in a battle of wit is not worth your time nor effort." he looked at Sherlock in the eyes. "It's unbecoming of you to get into fights." _with humans, no less_ he added quietly in his mind.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Showing my intelligence was the _reason_ he wanted to fight me, _brother_."

"There will always be people offended by things they do not possess. It is simply your duty to be the bigger man and not raise a fist." Mycroft let a small smile on his face. "Father would not be pleased and you know he knows everything."

"Well Mr Holmes, sir... If you don't tell him, surely he will not know?" John asked timidly.

"Our Father has...his own ways."

Greg nodded ominously, "I'm sure he _already_ knows." He looked at John. "Did you know their father rules the world? And Mycroft here, holds a _minor_ position in the British Government." He winked at John very obviously.

John frowned but didn't say anything, merely choosing to focus on his food.

"Oh please." Sherlock started. "He _is_ the British Government." Greg was actually surprised he was playing along.

"Stop it, you two." Mycroft glared at both of Sherlock and Greg over the rim of his cup.

"He doesn't deny it." Sherlock said, as if that was all the proof he needed.

"I'm merely a minor British official, an assistant. There's nothing more to it, truly." Mycroft shrugged. John was wide-eyed, seemingly caught in the crossfire.

"That's exactly what he was trained to say." Greg nodded. "Terrifying, the things he can do."

Mycroft sent them both warning glares to be quiet before shaking his head to himself in exasperation. John giggled a bit at the exchange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Yeah, Myc uses contractions (we just realized) which might be a tad bit OOC, but that's a part of learning from humans and trying to blend in while finding the equilibrium he's happy with.


	14. Chapter 14

Mycroft walked into the flat after walking Sherlock to John's to see a bare-chested Greg and his wings spread behind him. _That's a nice sight_ , his mind automatically supplied, before he noticed the state of Greg's wings. They were an absolute mess, akin to a bird's nest.

Greg, having had it with the knot of pain between his shoulder, decided that Saturday was a good as time as any to clean his wings. If only he knew how. Technically, he _knew_ he was supposed to let his wings out once in a while, and clean them occasionally but...he never really got around to it. So, after the few weeks they've been on Earth and his wings not seeing the light of day, his feathers were a jumbled mess. Much more, he couldn't reach to untangle the back ones.

Mycroft coughed to let Greg know he was there. "Good morning, Gregory."

Greg looked up from where he was trying to straighten up the feathers he could reach--and not doing a very good job of it--to see Mycroft. "Hi." He said, his shoulders slumped.

"Do... Do you require assistance?" Mycroft stepped towards Greg, but seemed to think that his offer may be rejected and stopped in his tracks. After all, wing business require no small amount of trust.

"Please?" Greg asked in a small voice. "I don't really know what I'm doing...and it hurts...I've been putting it off and....this is only the third time I've seen the bloody things." Greg's wings were a soft silver color.

Mycroft nodded and led Greg to sit on the couch, wings facing him. He sat on the armrest of the couch and softly ran his fingers through the marginal coverts, feeling the feathers rub against his knuckles smoothly like shimmering silk. He slowly untangled each feather, gently coaxing apart those that have become entwined and were stubborn to let loose. His focus narrowed until he barely paid attention to anything beyond each feather shaft he ran his fingers along and the barbs that run between his fingertips, muscle memory guiding his movement from years of only doing this for his younger sibling.

When he reached the primaries and secondaries, the flight feathers were less entangled and more ruffled, and so he began to set them straight. He worked on Greg's left wing first, as it looked worse for wear, and proceeded to continue to the right wing afterwards.

He was pulling a persistent tangle when he noticed how stiff Greg's wings were. He leant over to put a little pressure along the muscles, massaging along the humerus and radius, feeling the ulna as well. He was suddenly reminded of a time when Sherlock was memorizing each part of his wings, back when he was so new. He would recount their names as Mycroft groomed his small wings, the cherub sitting on a stool with his feet barely touching the ground.

To keep from continuously moaning from his wings being handled, Greg bit down on the base of his thumb to attempt to muffle his reactions. It wasn't his fault that it felt really really really good. Too good.

Mycroft hummed absent mindedly and finished his grooming. "Try to bring your wings out once every couple of days so your muscles will not become stiff and your feathers as badly tangled." he then noticed Greg biting on his thumb. "Did I hurt you?"

Greg took his thumb out of his mouth to answer. "No...it feels...really good. Don't stop....please?"

"Tell me if I'm hurting you." Mycroft continued to separate each layer of the coverts, and quietly admired how Greg's silver feathers seemed to glimmer on his hands. He was gently combing through the alula when he felt Greg shiver.

Thinking quickly, Greg grabbed a small pillow from the sofa and placed it in his lap. He didn't want Mycroft to be uncomfortable and stop just because he looked down and saw that Greg's pants were tenting. He didn't want the angel to stop at all.

The angel tilted his head, as if waiting for Greg to say what made him shiver, before realizing that he was not going to get an answer. He found a knot rather deep into the scapulars of Greg's right wing and tugged on it softly, both hands working to loosen the tangle of dark grey feathers.

A moan was forced out of Greg's mouth, his hand coming up to quickly cover the traitorous orifice.

Mycroft's hands stilled. The sound Greg made sent a shiver down _his_ spine. That one was...new. "Gregory...?"

"Yeah?" He asked, voice muffled by his hand.

"What was that...sound?" Mycroft blinked.

"N...nothing?"

Mycroft narrowed his eyes and tilted his head on an angle to see Greg better. "I have never heard of that before. What was it?"

Greg looked back at him over his shoulder, taking his hand away from his mouth, "What? It was a moan, I like what you're doing, it feels good...You've never heard it...well of course you've never heard it before, I don't think people in heaven do anything to moan about...much less angels." He shifted a little so he could see Mycroft properly. "I could help you out with that, you know...If you wanna see what it's like first hand."

Mycroft hesitated. He was extremely curious, but also cautious of the possibility that Sherlock would return. He glanced at the clock - there was still a while before John walked Sherlock home. After a few moments, he finally nodded. "I believe it will be easier if we switch places."

Greg grinned and stood up, careful to keep the pillow in place covering his lap.

"What are you doing?" Mycroft frowned at Greg's antics.

Greg shrugged, "Don't worry about it." He pulled his wings in a little --to not knock over whatever experiment Sherlock had set up on the table--and went to sit on the sofa. "Alright, shirt off."

Mycroft sat where Greg was just moments before and unbuttoned his shirt, slipping out of it and folding it perfunctorily. He felt rather self-conscious about the freckles scattering across his back, painting his pale complexion with tiny blotches of reddish brown of varying sizes. He knew that all Father's creation is perfect in its own right, but he has always been rather shy about it - especially since the oddity - _uniqueness_ , Father once said - does not help his case about probably being the most unattractive archangel in the garrisons. The old scar that runs along the border between his shoulder and what would be his left wing and some criss-crosses on his shoulders left over from the war do not help his case either. The scars are white, grown skin that healed over time imperfect due to the magic of some upper echelons of Hell. They don’t hurt anymore, but they are far from the perfectly smooth skin most angels possess.

Greg gasped when he saw the expanse of Mycroft's back. He ran his fingers gently down the old scars with a frown, he _knew_ they were from the war, from demons, but he didn’t even start to ask about them. Instead he remarked, "Gorgeous." He knew that he wanted to kiss every single freckle that he found on the other's skin, but that was for a different day.

Mycroft heard the gasp and assumed it was because of how appalled Greg was of the blotches and the scars before he heard the demon whisper. He blushed and, not knowing what to say, pulled his wings from the ether. His wings were of the same size as Greg's - perhaps slightly bigger - and they were purely white with sky blue tips.

"Oh look at you." Greg said as Mycroft pulled his wings out. The temptation to kiss right between Mycroft's wings was almost too much to resist. He brought his hand up to touch at the soft feathers of the angel's right wing. They were even softer than he imagined them to be.

Mycroft's ears turned red and his blush reached down to a bit of his pale back. He shook his wings a bit, stretching them carefully.

Greg started softly running his fingers through Mycroft's feathers, fixing them as they needed. Overall Mycroft's wings were in a lot better shape than Greg's had been, so a lot of the grooming was Greg just running his fingers up and down Mycroft's wings.

Greg's hands felt _good_. It felt different from the rare moments when Ariel would help him untie a knot he couldn't reach. Mycroft lightly gasped when Greg's fingers ran through his coverts, slightly tugging the feathers. A strong bolt of shivers went straight down his spine and towards...oh. _That was what the pillow was for._ Mycroft covered his mouth.

Greg noticed that Mycroft had covered his mouth with his hand. "You see now? It's good isn't it?" He grinned.

Mycroft wordlessly nodded. He unconsciously leaned back towards Greg's touch, silently asking for more.

"Come on, I want to hear you. Please?" Greg asked, pausing his fingers where they were in the fluff of Mycroft's wings.

He lowered his hands, fists tightly holding to the couch. "It's. Um. Good." _Much better than just 'good', but any more of that is more syllables than is probably wise for me to say right now before_ \-- Greg's hand tugged, the bolt of -.. _.is_ this _pleasure?_  - ran down his spine, catching him off guard. A small noise escaped his lips before he could stop it. He quickly covered his mouth, his eyes widened in shock.

Greg shuffled a little bit towards Mycroft, "Come on, let me hear those beautiful sounds, gorgeous," He whined, letting his fingers brush across the softer feathers towards the base of the wings.

Mycroft shook his head to himself. He could feel his heart beating faster, his blood rushing through his veins, as if _excited_. His shoulders tensed but his wings relaxed instinctively from Greg's ministrations.

"Relax," Greg said, turning his attention to Mycroft's stiff shoulders, rubbing them too. "Let yourself feel good once in a while. It's good for the soul."

Greg's hands dug into a knot in Mycroft's shoulders, a result of long days hunching over documents in the office, and Mycroft let out another small moan he couldn't stop. His blush flushed back with a renewed vengeance. "I think... That is just about enough for today, Gregory."

"Nah, you still got some knots to work out, I can tell. So rigid all the time, standing, sitting, you need to learn how to relax more, Myc." Greg said working at a stubborn spot.

"I can relax just fine," Mycroft would probably never admit that he pouted a little. He can relax, Mycroft figured, but he's not going to show Greg exactly _how_ he's enjoying this. That is just...embarrassing.

"Then relax." Greg said with a smile. "Come on, show me you know how."

Mycroft bit his lower lip. He rolled his shoulders and slumped forwards a bit, baring the back of his neck to Greg. His shoulder muscles rippled with movement, his freckles shifting a little as light fell on his red hair, a burning amber of curls slightly reminiscent of Sherlock's to match the constellation of brown dots.

Greg watched the light play on Mycroft's hair and skin with wide eyes, his mouth open in a gape. "You really don't know how beautiful you are, do you?" He whispered, continuing to rub Mycroft's neck and shoulders.

Mycroft swallowed a moan that was threatening to escape from a spot at the base of his neck Greg just rubbed. He wished he had a cushion to hide the slight tent in his trousers. He readjusted a little and bit his lower lip harder.

Before long, he could feel Sherlock's presence nearing the front door. He straightened, barely saying "He's back," before slipping his wings back into the ether, hands already holding his clothes.

Greg was thrown off by the sudden change of subject. "Huh?"

Mycroft was buttoning up his shirt, slightly rumpled from his grip on it. "Sherlock-" they could hear steps thundering up and the door opened to reveal the teen.

Greg quickly hid his wings just in case John was behind him.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, looking at the two. "What were you doing?"

"Nothing malevolent," Mycroft walked towards the kitchen, going to make some tea. "How is John?

Greg secretly winked at Sherlock while he was shrugging back on his own shirt.

"John is..." Sherlock frowned at Greg's wink. "Fine. John is fine."

Mycroft padded back to the living room with 3 cups of tea, his shirt now tucked in neatly. He took a cup for himself and sat on the armchair. "What did you get up to today?"

"Nothing malevolent." Sherlock answered, grabbing up a cup of tea and sitting beside Greg.

Mycroft shrugged. His hand reached out to his papers on the table beside the armchair when he found apple candies on top of his stack. "Who...?"

He smiled to himself. "Thank you, Gregory."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((at the risk of being super cheesy, @racalbrecht drew Mycroft over at http://racalbrecht.tumblr.com/post/171462917244/drew-a-little-something because she's super excited about wings and Myc's freckles!))


	15. Chapter 15

When Mycroft woke Greg up the next day, early in the morning, the first thing Greg mumbled when he saw the other man was: "Hm, _angel._ "

Mycroft frowned for a second, caught off guard. "Yes, I am an angel, I believe we established that long ago...?"

Greg blinked the sleep out of his eyes and stretched. "Morning." He said with a yawn. "Why are you waking me up so early?" He asked, not realizing how early it _truly_ was.

"I was hoping you would accompany me today," he smiled a little hesitantly.

"Hm, where we going?" Greg asked, scratching his head. "Bit early for the pub, innit?"

"Out and about, see things Sherlock and I have not had a chance to show you yet," Mycroft shrugged.

After thinking it over for a second, Greg nodded. "Alright, why so early though?" He stood up and stretched again.

"There is a lot we want to cover," Mycroft stepped back. "I shall let you get ready. Say, we'll leave in 15...?"

Greg nodded again. "Sure. Breakfast ready?"

"I made some toast, and we still have that delicious strawberry jam from Mrs Hudson's sister."

Greg hummed and pulled on his shirt from yesterday, it was a little wrinkled from being tossed on the floor last night.

* * *

Mycroft was quiet as he led them down the way to whatever it was he wanted to show Greg. He wasn't sure if he should bring Greg to church, but he needed to make a convincing appearance for his co-workers who also lived nearby, and who had started to ask him if he knew about 'the handsome man living in the same building, the brunette with beautiful brown eyes'. Failure to attend church on Sunday morning was a faux pas, and as newcomers they simply had to blend in as much as possible. Greg would scoff at the idea of church in general, considering what he said in that debate with the preacher...so Mycroft had no other way but to trap him. It was only going to be two hours, perhaps three at most.

On a very different note: Mycroft knew that the easiest way to understand angels - and, in particular, Sherlock and himself- was by listening to the Word. He wanted Greg to understand him, and after that, he'd do his best to understand Greg

"So where are we headed?" Greg asked, looking around at the buildings as they walked.

Sherlock was told strictly by Mycroft not to say a word to Greg about where they were going. He thought it was a stupid idea, to bring a demon to church, Mycroft was just asking for trouble, but he silently went along with it. He was almost sure that the demon wouldn't make a _scene_ at the reception, but...he wasn't quite sure of his reaction otherwise, it would be interesting to see...

"You... will see." Mycroft trailed off, growing less and less sure of his decision with every step he took. "I.. I have to apologize in advance if you end up hating me for this, but it... needs to be done."

"Hating you?" Greg asked, amused. "What are you planning to do? Get me baptized or something? Oh I know, you're going to exorcise me." He laughed. "Come on, where are we going really? Let me guess, we're going clothes shopping. Please spare me the torment."

The demon stopped with his musing when the three entered the clearing. Standing in the center of the clearing, a large and looming chapel. Greg automatically shut his mouth for a second, looking up at the massive structure. Now his jokes weren't as funny as they were a second ago.

"What is this?" He asked, he'd thought everything was good between him and Mycroft. "Did I do something wrong?"

Mycroft pulled Greg aside, a few steps away from Sherlock. He didn't need the teen to make comments right now. "Gregory, I am truly sorry," Mycroft looked at Greg's eyes, his own pleading for forgiveness and his knuckles white from clenching his fists. "You did not do anything wrong, you have been so _good_ \- but people have started talking and asking questions about your absence and we need to convince them, and this was the only way I could think of--"

Greg nodded slowly. "...Alright. I don't know if I can make it through the whole thing though. It's usually a few hours right?" He bit his bottom lip and looked over at the church, already feeling a bit sick to his stomach about the whole ordeal. The church bells started to ring, sending echoes through Greg's head.

Mycroft nodded. "...We will sit at the back and leave early if we need to. It is not that common to do so...however, I would say that we have some extenuating circumstances."

"Yeah, are those always so loud?" Greg winced at the sound of the bells.

Mycroft glanced at Greg, still unsure. "It's a call for this particular area of the city, so I am afraid yes they are." They stepped into the chapel, taking off their hats carefully before they go further. Mycroft quietly asked one of the ushers for seats at the very back of the church, citing an illness as a reason for the unusual change. The usher agreed and led them through the crowd, showing them to a relatively empty pew. Mycroft stepped aside to let Sherlock slide in first, Greg second and then himself.

Gret was already feeling uneasy as he sat down. His leg repeatedly jumping up and down in anxiety. It was like he couldn't sit still, all his body wanted to do was _leave_ but Mycroft was right, he had to be seen here, they had to fit in.

Mycroft's eyes wandered to Greg's uneasy expression and his restless leg. He kept his eyes forwards to watch the procession commence, followed by a few words of welcome, anthem from the choir and hymns. Mycroft slid his fingers into Greg's and rested them between their thighs.

Greg eyes widened a bit when Mycroft took his hands, here of all places. He squeezed the angel's hand tightly in his own, but it only did little to calm him down. As the choir began his stomach sunk, like he was on a boat ride on stormy waters.

"Good morning." The Preacher began. "Today we will be looking into our own faith and what it means to be faithful. Let us start today with Hymn 394-" Greg blocked out the sound of the Preacher's voice, hoping that it would help.

Mycroft watched Greg from the corner of his eyes cautiously. The moment the demon asks them to leave, they will, and they will just use an illness as an excuse for his absence. His co-workers do not overlap with Greg's, it will be fine. He cursed himself for being so _stupid_ for not thinking of that earlier.

Mycroft took a small copy of the bible from the pouch in front of them. He opened it to the page referred by the preacher, immediately finding the words calming.

Greg winced away when Mycroft opened the bible. Each word the Preacher said was like a kick to the gut and he sunk lower and lower in his seat. He squirmed a little in his seat, all he wanted to do was crawl under the pew and vanish. He didn't want to be here, he wanted out. Greg tried to control his breathing, taking a deep breath in, holding it, and exhaling slowly. It worked somewhat.

Mycroft listened to the sermon. His hand was gripping Greg's tightly, his thumb rubbing across Greg's knuckles in what he hopes was a soothing motion.

Greg could feel himself start to sweat, even though it was a nice morning outside. He felt sick to his stomach and sluggish.

Sherlock looked at him in concern, he'd never seen someone go quite so pale before.

"--to believe is to have faith," the preacher said. "to have faith is to trust that the Lord will keep you safe, that He will listen to your needs and fulfill your wants..."

Greg gripped Mycroft's hand even tighter as the words found their way into his skull. He felt his stomach start to flip, like he was going to be sick. He had never been sick to his stomach before, so it was quite a new experience for the demon, but this was, without a doubt, what he was feeling.

Mycroft noticed his hand being squeezed even tighter. Greg's knuckles were completely white, and he glanced to his side to see the demon completely pale.

That was  _enough_ , they're leaving.

Mycroft patted Greg gently and sent a look to tell Sherlock they were leaving. He tugged the demon quietly out of the pew, sliding silently along the wall while his hand still tightly holding onto Greg's. The demon stumbled along wordlessly, in a daze. The sooner they were out of that church the better and Greg wanted to get as far away from that place as possible.

Mycroft led them to the nearest exit, quickly bowed to Father to excuse their early leave and left the chapel. He only turned around to look at Greg properly once they stepped out of the clearing. Once they were out of sight of the church, Greg let go of Mycroft's hand and stumbled toward an alleyway. He managed to get a little ways inside of the alley before grabbing the wall and throwing up black liquid.

Sherlock watched, interested and a little disgusted.

Mycroft reached his hand out to rub Greg's shoulders instinctively before stopping himself. He didn't know what kind of effect he would have on the demon right now. His grace would certainly worsen the situation.

Greg was shaking as he spit the last of the black bile onto the ground. He whined softly, it was so _cold_ now. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stumbled toward Mycroft, still shaking like a leaf in the wind. "Home?" He asked roughly, his throat was sore and he didn't know if he was going to throw up again before they made it back to the flat.

Mycroft's eyes softened upon heading Greg's small voice. He noticed the shiver, took off his coat and wrapped it around the demon. "Yes, Gregory. We are going home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That 'hymn 394' is definitely a reference to 'page 394' from a certain someone. Teehee.


	16. Chapter 16

 

> _Greg was shaking as he spit the last of the black bile onto the ground. He whined softly, it was so cold now. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stumbled toward Mycroft, still shaking like a leaf in the wind. "Home?" He asked roughly, his throat was sore and he didn't know if he was going to throw up again before they made it back to the flat._
> 
> _Mycroft's eyes softened upon heading Greg's small voice. He noticed the shiver, took off his coat and wrapped it around the demon. "Yes, Gregory. We are going home."_

 Greg's arm was slung over Mycroft's shoulders as they made their way up the stairs slowly, Sherlock quietly trailing behind them. He made the teen to open the door for them and heard him take a sharp breath.

Lucifer was waiting for them in one of the arm chairs. He quickly stood and rushed to help Mycroft get Greg inside. "Oh dear. Look what you did to him." The devil tutted and pulled Greg into a tight hug. "My poor darling, what did that _nasty_ angel make you do?"

Greg struggled against Lucifer's hold but because he was so weak, the devil was able to keep his hold on him.

Mycroft pursed his lips. Lucifer had always made his skin _crawl_ in disgust, but it was not his place to say anything right now. He expected Greg to hate the church for what it said, but not that it would do him bodily harm - but he assumed, and he was now paying for it.

Lucifer continued, now speaking directly to Mycroft. "And what, _exactly_ did you think was going to happen, bringing a demon into a church?" He glared at Mycroft. "I could have your wings for this-"

Greg, taking some of the strength he had gained, pushed Lucifer away. "Fuck off, Lucifer." He pushed and stumbled toward Mycroft, wrapping his arms around the angel in an attempt to hold himself upright, now that he'd used what little strength he had gained.

Mycroft stared down at Greg, stunned. The demon had just told _The_ Devil himself to get out. He wrapped his arms around Greg to support him and walked them over to the couch, careful to not jostle the demon too much.

Lucifer stared smugly at the two. "I do good work." He smiled. "Look at that. Instead of me, he goes to his angel. It's...it's beautiful." He put a hand over his heart, "It makes me feel, right here." Just as sudden as it came on, Lucifer was intensely serious again. "Well, if I'm no longer needed here..." He sauntered over to the front door. "Oh, and by the way, he's going to be sick for a few days, at least." He said over his shoulder before leaving, closing the door behind him.

Greg snuggled in beside Mycroft. He still wasn't feeling well, he felt weak all over, but at least he wasn't going to vomit again.

Mycroft settled into the couch. He felt a little awkward - _where shall he place his left arm? He had seen people do gentle repetitive motions when comforting someone upset, one particular way was to pat their back. Should he do that? Should he rest Greg's head on his shoulder? But that might be a tad uncomfortable - perhaps his chest? But no, his heartbeat would be loud and annoying, and their seating was a little awkward for that. What should he do?_ \- and was a little at loss. He knew hugs, hugs he could do fine, but comforting had always a little beyond his area of expertise.

"So that was Lucifer." Sherlock said from where he had taken a seat by the window to watch the show. "He seemed a little...flighty."

"...He has things to do...deals to make." Greg explained, his voice weak. He shifted so he was laying his head on Mycroft's shoulder with his arms wrapped around the angel's middle. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh.

"Sherlock, could you please make us some tea? I think the warmth might help Gregory," Mycroft said. He shifted to face Gregory better and slipped an arm behind him to provide better support. The demon was now comfortably snug at the base of his neck. Once Sherlock huffed his way out to the kitchen, he nuzzled into Greg's hair. "I'm truly sorry."

"Hm, not your fault." Greg murmured. "Didn't know..." He held onto Mycroft a little tighter.

Mycroft reached over to some of his documents. _Might as well get some work done while he can't move_ , he thought as he absent mindedly made little circles on Greg's shoulder.

Greg hummed a little at the treatment, closing his eyes.

Mycroft looked down to the demon at the sound of the hum and tried to place where he'd heard the familiar tune when he noticed a lighter streak of color. He frowned and looked closer- it was a streak of grey hair. _Where did that come from...?_

Greg, sensing a change in Mycroft, opened one eye to look up at him. "Hm?"

Mycroft pursed his lips. He had no idea what kind of reaction he could expect, and the feeling of being at loss unnerved him. "You... Um. Have grey hair... ?"

Greg blinked, then narrowed his eyes. "What?" He couldn't exactly jump up and run to the mirror in the bathroom to look, since he didn't even feel like he could stand at the moment. He reached up slowly and grabbed at the front of his hair, looking up and trying to see. "Where?"

Mycroft used his free hand to point at the spot.

Greg grabbed the bit of hair Mycroft pointed at but still couldn't see it. He sat back with a huff, cuddling back into Mycroft's side.

Mycroft chuckled a little at the huff. "Please forgive me."

Finally, Sherlock came back in with two cups of tea. He sat them on the table quickly. "I phoned John and am going to spend the day with him..." He gave a very obvious look over the two then walked over to the door.

"Call us when you arrive there, Sherlock," Mycroft called out before the door was shut. He sighed quietly.

"And he complained about Lucifer being flighty." Greg mumbled into Mycroft's shirt.

Mycroft shrugged. "Do you want to try drinking tea...? It might help the nausea."

"More cold than anything." Greg mumbled again but nodded. He sat up slowly and grabbed one of the cups of tea, slipping it and being careful not to take too much. He was still a little shaky it seemed.

Mycroft hesitated. "Perhaps some blankets could be useful...?"

"Please... Maybe we can go...lay in bed? Cuddle a bit? More comfortable than the sofa..." Greg asked quietly, his throat still sore.

Normally Mycroft would have rejected the idea outright, but he observed how miserable Greg still looked. "Let's go, then. I will help you up the stairs, then I shall go take our cups as well.”

Greg gave him a small smile. "M'kay." He still felt like trash, obviously, Lucifer said it would take a few days for him to get back to normal, but he liked all this attention he was getting from Mycroft.

"Your room?" Mycroft asked, shrugging out of his coat and waistcoat- he had forgotten he still had them on - and untying his tie. He hung the coat and left the tie on the table. He would sort it later.

Greg nodded, he knew there were already all the blankets he could find in his closet, on his bed, so he would be toasty warm laying and snuggling next to Mycroft. He stood on shaky feet.

Mycroft slung Greg's arm over his shoulder and helped him wobble up the stairs. They made their way slowly - the stairs was a squeeze for two men to go through - but they eventually managed after a while. He sat Greg down on the bed. "I will return shortly with our tea, please arrange yourself comfortably in the meantime."

Greg briefly thought about arranging himself in a provocative position but then quickly decided that he didn't have any energy for that and just focused on getting the covers pulled back. With a struggle he pulled off his shoes and by the time Mycroft came back up the stairs, he was already exhausted from the effort.

Mycroft put down the cups he had retrieved from downstairs and placed them on the bedside table. He had also brought the history book Ariel brought for them on the way, as an afterthought of sorts, and also placed them within an arm's reach from the bed. He went over to where Greg was sitting, a little slumped over from the exhaustion, and lifted him up, one arm underneath Greg's legs and the other supporting his back. Mycroft placed him by the headboard, putting some pillows behind him to make him comfortable. "Is this alright?"

Greg nodded, "I have...no energy." He took a deep breath. "Help me get my suspenders off? They're a bit of a pain to lay down with?"

Mycroft swiftly unclipped Greg's suspenders and his own and put them aside. He took off his shoes and put them neatly by Greg's shoes. "Anything else?"

"I feel like I should ask you to take off the rest of my clothes but honestly, I can't really be bothered to even attempt to try anything..." Greg scooted down the bed and under the covers. "Come here? Please?"

Mycroft padded over to the other side of the bed and slipped into bed beside Greg. He arranged them like how they were on the couch, and pulled the blanket over both of them.

Greg snuggled into the angel, wrapping his arms around his middle and put his head on his shoulder. "Warm." He smiled.

Mycroft reached out to the book he put earlier and opened to where he left off: the Greeks and its philosophers. Not wanting to disturb the demon, Mycroft's hand started tracing little circles as he read quietly.

"Read to me?" Greg asked, noting the book Mycroft was reading from. "Don't keep it all a mystery."

Mycroft smiled privately and complied. "In the world of Ancient Greece, education, philosophy and art were essential to put meaning into one's life and were a part of their daily lives. The power of thought was as powerful and prominent as - if not moreso than - the power of biology. The works of Greek philosophers persist until today, indeed: Aristotle, Plato and Socrates are only a small part of the foundations that form our world... "

"...Wait, I thought they were all the same bloke? Arty-stole, Plate, and Society?" Greg frowned.

"... No. Plato is the student of Socrates, and Aristotle is the student of Plato. Socrates himself did not write philosophical texts; what we know of him has been derived from the texts of his students, one of whom is Plato."

"Oh...so they're all basically the same." Greg nodded. "Got ya. Continue."

"To equate them all to each other is to consider Sherlock and I, as his mentor, the same," Mycroft frowned down at Greg. "They really are not."

"...Alright. But you are similar, you and Sherlock. You have this...uncanny sense of reading people."

"It's merely observation, I assure you. I am sure you can do it as well, given time and training."

"Seems like a lot of work." Greg shook his head. "I'm fine right here, forever, thanks."

Mycroft shrugged and continued. He read about the Trojan War - _quite a clever idea, I must admit_ \- and lives in cities like Acropolis, Sparta, and Athens before he noticed that Greg's head had started nodding off a little.

What could Greg say? It’s not like the Greeks were particularly _interesting_ to learn about. Sure the Trojan War was a laugh but...soon enough Greg was nodding off. He was exhausted from today’s disaster.

Mycroft could tell when Greg finally slipped into unconsciousness. He closed the book and attempted to slip out of the bed, let the demon have his much needed rest, but he found himself rather trapped by Greg's arms around his torso. He internally sighed.

 

When Sherlock came home, John in tow, the flat was eerily quiet. Suspecting foul play, Sherlock investigated. The kitchen? Empty. The bedroom he and Mycroft shared? Nothing. He slowly peeked into the demon's room, John just as curious behind him. There he saw Mycroft and Greg passed out in the bed, curled around one another.

John's eyes widened. On one side, they must have intruded what was a private scene, and the etiquette and manners instilled in him revolted at the idea of such a breach of privacy. On another, he felt strangely relieved. The conflict between religion and his feelings quietened at the back of his head in awe of the scene - at how _normal_ it looked.

Sherlock blinked and backed away, bumping into John. "Let's go ask Mrs. Hudson to make us something to eat." He murmured and started off down the stairs again, expecting John to follow.

John blinked at Sherlock's abrupt exit before hurriedly following him out, closing the door carefully as to not jostle the sleeping duo.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right now I can only laugh at this. So this was supposed to be the next chapter in Greg's recovery after the church. Somehow chapter 21 turned into chapter 17.... Whoops!

> _ When Sherlock came home, John in tow, the flat was eerily quiet. Suspecting foul play, Sherlock investigated. The kitchen? Empty. The bedroom he and Mycroft shared? Nothing. He slowly peeked into the demon's room, John just as curious behind him. There he saw Mycroft and Greg passed out in the bed, curled around one another. _

Mycroft blinked awake. The room was dark: he has missed sunset, so he must have fallen asleep for about two hours. There was a slight muscular pain on his neck from the way he fell asleep, but it was nothing time couldn't heal. He looked down at Greg to find the other still in deep sleep, and rather comfortably so if the soft snores he could hear were of any indication. He could barely see his face in the darkness, but he could feel how drained the demon was, and he firmly restrained himself from using his grace to help restore Greg. His grace would probably do more harm than good.

He felt immensely guilty for making Greg go through what he did today. Indeed, they have now made their excuse possibly for the rest of their time here - but he would rather have others think that Greg is an aberration, a non-believer than have him go through it again. He _will_ make sure to extend his influence far enough for the state of his demon's belief to not matter in society in the future.

Greg frowned in his sleep and snuggled closer to the angel.

Mycroft turned the bedside lamp on and shifted just enough to be able to continue reading. He will leave Greg to sleep a little more, and wake him later for dinner. They still have some food left over from last night, that would do.

Mycroft gently shook Greg. "Gregory...?" It's been a couple more hours since he had awoken and started reading - time had gone away from him - and the demon still hasn't shown any signs of waking. He was getting a little concerned - Lucifer did say that he would take a while to recover, but... At least Greg's pulse is still steady.

Greg grumbled in his sleep and tried to move away from the shaking.

Mycroft shook him harder this time. "Gregory, _please_ wake up."

After the violent shaking, Greg finally cracked an eye open to look at Mycroft. "Whazzit?" He slurred out.

"You've been asleep for so long, I was getting worried. I need to check on Sherlock to see if he is alright."

Greg rolled over, "I'm sure he's fine," and closing his eyes again.

Mycroft gently but firmly lifted Greg's slightly more yielding arms and started sliding out of Greg's grasp. "I would rather be safe than sorry, Gregory. I'll let you sleep."

Greg hummed and then said, "...Are you coming back?"

"... Do you need me to?"

He peeked out from under the mountain of covers he was snuggled into. "...I'd like you to? I like it when you're here."

Mycroft was quiet for a few moments. "Then I'll be back. Go back to sleep for now," he said softly, running his hands through Greg's hair before leaving the room quietly.

Greg gave him a small smile before Mycroft left the room. He was feeling a little better, honestly, but he somehow doubted he would be able to make more than a few steps if he was asked to get out of bed.

Mycroft opened the door to the living room to see John and Sherlock on the floor, surrounding what looks like a dismantled alarm clock. "Good evening, John. I hope Sherlock has not troubled you with his sudden request today."

John jumped in surprise. He wasn't expecting Mycroft to wake, considering he was deeply asleep...in bed with... "G-good evening to you too, Mr Holmes. And no, he hasn't!"

"Mrs. Hudson made some soup for Grant." Sherlock said, tinkering with a cog from the destroyed alarm clock.

"Thank you, Sherlock. Have you both had dinner?"

Sherlock looked over at John then back at Mycroft. "Mrs. Hudson made us eat something."

Mycroft raised his eyebrow at the look but dismissed it for nothing and nodded. "I will make sure to thank her for her thoughtfulness tomorrow. John, would you like some tea, biscuits perhaps?"

John glanced at the clock. "Ah, I am fine, thank you. I really should get going, it's getting late and we have school tomorrow. My parents will be looking for me soon."

"Very well. Is Sherlock walking you home?"

"No, but I will let him know when I arrive at home!"

"Be careful John, there are strange things out there at night." Sherlock said ominously to his friend.

John gave Sherlock an exasperated look briefly before standing, straightening some of the creases in his trousers. "If you would excuse me then, sir..."

"Ah, yes, of course. Have a good evening and please pass on our greetings to your family."

"Good evening to you too, and uh-- please p-pass on my greetings to Mr Lestrade as well." Mycroft had a glimpse of John's faint blush before the teen all but ran down the stairs and left. He looked over to Sherlock for an explanation.

Sherlock, of course, didn't say a word.

Mycroft frowned but decided not to push it. He went to the kitchen to make sure the soup was still warm enough to eat and walked out with a tray with two bowls. He briefly stopped by on his way out of the living room, "Sherlock, don't go to bed too late, please. I will be attending to Gregory tonight so do not wait for me."

Sherlock gave him a look and then focused back on tinkering with his toys.

Mycroft balanced the tray on one hand and opened the door with the other and made his way to Greg's bedroom. Greg was asleep again. The angel shoved the small guilty feeling to the back of his mind and gently shook Greg awake.

Gregory wasn't so deep asleep this time as to not wake up when Mycroft shook him. "Hm?" He looked at the angel blearily.

"Mrs Hudson made us soup, would you like to try at least a little? You need to eat something, or else your stomach will bother you too."

Greg thought about it for a second, then nodded. He struggled to sit up, but finally he was able to prop himself up with the pillows and the headboard. "What kind of soup?"

"It's a carrot soup, I believe. Easy to swallow and digest. It's delicious, as to be expected from Mrs Hudson."

Greg nodded. "Probably...How was Sherlock? Didn't get into any trouble without your watchful eye, did he?"

"John was with him but he has gone home. He's a remarkably good influence; Sherlock hasn't exploded anything."

"Yet." Greg added. "He's up to something, I can feel it brewing. Can't you? There's some mischief there."

Mycroft sat down on the edge of the bed by Greg's side. "I know he is. However I don't think pushing him would make him come to us."

"Probably could get John to talk, if he knew anything about it, of course. I don't think he does though. Can't say anything about tonight though, my _senses_ are off, but it's definitely something in the making." Greg nodded.

Mycroft hummed thoughtfully. "I will do so the next time I see him, perhaps you could distract Sherlock while I speak to John?" he took a spoonful of soup and held it out for Greg.

Greg raised his eyebrows at Mycroft spoon-feeding him, but accepted the spoonful of soup regardless. He swallowed, it _was_ good. "Yeah, I can do that. You might not like how, but...I can do it."

Mycroft looked at him with exasperation in his eyes, while taking another spoonful. "Whatever it is that you do, please don't make him die prematurely."

"Oh, nothing like that." Greg rolled his eyes. "Why would I do something like _that_ , I'm fond of the little bugger. Even if he calls me everything but my name."

Mycroft gave the demon a look and fed him another spoonful. "I sensed an inner conflict with John as well, although it felt as if it was rooted deeper. I might try to see if that is related to whatever Sherlock is planning."

Greg shrugged as he accepted another spoonful. "Could be something completely different too, if you pry too much they'll close up completely."

Mycroft hums and stirred the soup before taking a spoonful. "Perhaps. I will only pry if it is indeed directly related to Sherlock. It might not be... But it is causing John deep sadness."

"Poor bugger, he's a good kid." Greg frowned. "Shouldn't be at the age to deal with a deep sadness of any kind."

"Hence why I'd like to speak to him, see if I can somewhat... alleviate it."

"Oh, is that code for 'angel-magic it away'?" Greg asked.

Mycroft gave Greg a look while feeding him a spoonful. "Not completely away, no. But I believe the idiom goes, 'something is better than nothing.'"

Greg took the spoonful, acknowledging the timing of it. He swallowed quickly. "At least make sure to figure out what's wrong before you try and fix it? Maybe he didn't get a bicycle for Christmas."

" _John_ would not experience _deep sadness_ because he did not receive a bicycle for Christmas, you know this."

Greg only shrugged.

Mycroft sighed. "I will be careful. Do not fret."

In response, Greg just opened his mouth and waited for the next spoonful of soup.

Mycroft willingly obliged, pleased that Greg was now feeling well enough to seek for food.

Greg swallowed down the soup. "You really think John's his anchor?"

"I think there is a high likelihood for it, if Sherlock ever chooses to have an anchor," Mycroft hummed. "That is not to say that John _will_ be Sherlock's anchor... But John is the only person I have ever seen Sherlock so attached to."

"I think it goes a bit _beyond_ attached, don't you?" Greg gave him a look. "The poor kid's almost smitten."

Mycroft look startled. "But it hasn't... been that long."

Greg gave him a look. "Turn a blind eye all you want. But I tell you one thing, if you suggest something Sherlock doesn't want to do, then casually mention John is going to be there, I'm sure he'll _find_ an excuse to go." He shrugged.

Mycroft pursed his lips. He held up another spoonful of the soup. "Romantic love is not my forte."

"That's why I'm here, darling." Greg said and took the spoonful of soup.

Mycroft had nothing to say to that except for the light blush dusting his cheeks. He simply watched Greg swallow the spoonful and fed him another.

"You're adorable." He said before the next spoonful.

Mycroft's hand stilled for a second before resuming. _If you know what I am in heaven, how many of your brothers I have had to eliminate, I doubt you would still see me the same way,_ he thought to himself.

Greg narrowed his eyes at the angel. "Let me guess, you're thinking, 'I am _not_ adorable.'" He grinned.

Mycroft shrugged a little. "I am not, and that is the truth. I have had numerous people tell me so."

"Well they don't matter, do they? Only your soulmate's opinion of the matter is what counts, and that would be me. And I think you're adorable." Greg grinned wider.

Mycroft refrained from rolling his eyes. "... You are biased." He couldn't help the small smile in the corner of his lips.

"'Course I am." Greg nodded. "But you wouldn't believe it otherwise, so someone has to be."

The angel gave Greg a look of fond exasperation but knew he would not be able to win this argument. He looked down to the bowl, now empty, and to his own, still full. "Would you like some more of the soup?"

"I think I'm alright for now." Greg patted his tummy. "You should eat though." He snuggled down into the bed and blankets.

Mycroft stood up to bring the tray downstairs. He figured he could eat in the kitchen, wash their dishes and return.  "I shall be back shortly then, please sleep some more in the meantime."

Greg nodded and pulled the blankets up further.


	18. Chapter 18

Greg was already sound asleep by the time Mycroft returned. He had changed into his pyjamas and slipped underneath the blankets as quietly as possible.

Subconsciously sensing the angel in bed, Greg gravitated toward him, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tightly.

Mycroft slipped his arm underneath Greg's neck to let the other settle comfortably. He thought about keeping his wings in the ether during his sleep, but decided that since Greg had seen them, he would not mind. His wings slipped out of the ether silently, feathers softly touching the arm Greg had around the angel.

Greg let out a soft sigh, nuzzling Mycroft slightly in his sleep. The angel buried his face into Greg's hair and slipped into unconsciousness. 

 

_Blood on his feet, on his wings and on his cheek, dark red (of his brothers and sisters) and black (of the enemy) combined; running in the midst of a rain of arrows and fire, his sword acting as an extension of his hands; fighting to release himself from a demon who jumped him and is now trying to bite a chunk of him with its disproportionately big teeth--_

Greg shook Mycroft awake. He had awoken when the angel started thrashing around in distress. Was he being attacked in his sleep? Greg couldn't see a culprit, he didn't quite know what was going on with the angel.

Mycroft jerked awake with a gasp. His heart felt as if it was trying to rattle out of his ribs, his eyes wide, flitting wildly across the room for a threat before finally falling to Greg beside him.

Greg rubbed his back and made soothing sounds. "It's alright." He whispered. "You're alright...I think. You're alright, right?"

Mycroft startled a little - _it's a demon, danger_ \- before he realized that it was Greg, Greg his soulmate and the treaty came rushing to the forefront of his mind. He stopped immediately, taking deep breaths to settle himself. "I-I apologize for waking you. I- didn't mean to."

"No, it's alright," Greg reassured. "Are you okay?" He asked again. "What happened?"

"I-It was a nightmare." Mycroft reached out to grip Greg's free wrist, wanting some solid reassurance that he was here, on _Earth_ with Greg and not...in the field. "I am afraid I get them most nights still. I'll...um. Try to not disturb you...next time it occurs."

Greg frowned. "A nightmare? 'Bout what?" He asked, moving closer and just holding the angel. "Tell me, might help..."

Mycroft stilled before burrowing his head into Greg's warmth. His soulmate's musk is familiar, calming - he could smell a trace of those (blasted, he doesn't like them but who is he to stop him?) cigarettes, but there was more of Greg's smell to really care. He inhaled it deeply. "I... War. It was....the war. Blood. Years o-of. Trying not to get killed. I can't...don't really want to think about it anymore."

Greg hugged Mycroft tight to him. "Don't have to worry about all that now. You've gone domestic." Greg smiled into Mycroft's hair. "Yeah?"

Mycroft closed his eyes, his own arms wrapping around Greg's torso - _solid, that flesh is intact, there's no blood, he's real-_  and tucked his face into Greg's neck. He nodded. "Thank you," he murmured.

The demon kissed Mycroft's head lightly and hummed. He didn't like seeing Mycroft in distress, it wasn't....natural for the angel who was always upright and proper.

Greg's hum reverberated in his chest, the vibrations having a calming effect on him. He hid his face in Greg's chest. It was a while until he could let himself fall back asleep.

 

Greg woke the next day to Mycroft being gone. He growled in sadness, of course the bloody angel would go to work the next day. He cracked an eye open and looked around the room, at least Mycroft _didn't_ open up the curtains to let the light shine through.

The demon sat up in bed and stretched. He still felt...bad, honestly. But it was better than he felt yesterday. Maybe he would be able to get up and walk around today without having to rely on an angel or furniture to help. He looked over to the bedside table and saw Mycroft's note that he had left for him.

 

> _Dear Gregory,_  
>    
>  _I have informed your workplace that you will be unable to attend for the next two days - if that is insufficient, I believe I can persuade them to allow your absence for another day. Please take this opportunity to rest as much as possible._  
>    
>  _I have also spoken to Mrs Hudson about your situation. She will come around noontime to bring you some form of sustenance. She has also expressed an interest in teaching me how to cook._  
>    
>  _Sherlock will return home with John, as per usual, and I will try to return home as soon as possible, work permitting._ _  
> _ _  
> _ \- MH

 

Greg frowned when he read it. “No _lovingly yours_? Not even a love.” He couldn’t say he wasn’t disappointed,

"Youhuu!" a very familiar voice called from the other side of the door.

"I'm decent....physically...morally, not so much." Greg called back. "Come in, Mrs. Hudson."

"Hello, dear. Sherlock told me you were unwell yesterday, and Mr Holmes informed me of the situation before he left for work this morning. Are you feeling better now?" She came in, setting a tray of food on the bedside table.

"A bit, yeah." Greg nodded, sitting up fully in bed. "Still feel a bit weak but..." He shrugged. He looked over at the tray of food hungrily.

Mrs Hudson fussed a bit until she managed to get a bowl of soup on Greg's lap. She sat on the edge of the bed. "So, how did it go with Mr Holmes?"

"Well...I think it went all right. We talked...it was a miscommunication thing." Greg shrugged. "It's all sorted now. He's still...Mycroft, though." He took a spoonful of soup, even though it was steaming hot. "Look at this note he left me, not even a _Love, Mycroft_ on it." He handed Mrs. Hudson the note.

Mrs Hudson tutted. " _Gregory_ , Mr Holmes is a man of action, not of words. First, he persuaded your workplace to give you a leave of absence. You are new - it is certainly no easy feat to persuade them enough that they would let you go. Second, the poor man looked so worried when he spoke to me this morning. He only went after I assured him that I would look after you in his absence. And third - he wrote that he 'will try to return home as soon as possible.' If what Sherlock told me about what the both of you were up to most of the day yesterday is true, the 'home' he meant is you."

Greg listened to what Mrs. Hudson had to say. "Oh....We were just sleeping yesterday, nothing...untoward."

"It's okay, dear, your secret is safe with me." Mrs Hudson winked at Greg. "He is certainly opening his heart to you, and I would say that is brilliant progress!"

Greg took another spoon of soup and nodded. "Thanks for the soup. And the advice. He might not realize it but I'm just as new to all of this relationship stuff as he is. I'm flying blind here."

Mrs Hudson put a reassuring hand on Greg's arm. "He will come around eventually, dear. Give him time."

"Time we've got. Patience is another matter." Greg sighed. "He had a nightmare last night. For a second, after he woke up, he looked like he didn't know who I was." He frowned and looked away.

"He must have been disoriented for a moment. Did he tell you what his nightmare was about?"

"...War." Greg said. "Was it really that bad? Do you know?"

Mrs Hudson took a deep breath. "Oh, my poor dear..." she shuddered. "Gerard was riddled with nightmares for years before it finally receded. You see, killing is not in their nature. Angels, just like all of their Father's creations, were born on the basis of love. Hence each kill becomes that much more personal for them. "

"Oh....is that why Mycroft is so...cold? Or is that just how angels are?" Greg asked.

"Give him time, my dear. He adores you in his own way, and as long as you show him how to love, he will reciprocate."

Greg nodded. "I know. I'm not about to give up on him."

Mrs Hudson gave him a bright smile. "So, what are you planning to do next?"

"Um....not sure." Greg shrugged and looked down at his soup and swirled his spoon around the bowl.

"Well, Valentine's Day is coming soon, how about...."


	19. Chapter 19

When Mycroft stepped into the flat, it was dark. Sherlock had called him from John's house that he was playing there and will come home a little later than usual. He hung his coat and hat by the door and walked upstairs to check on the demon. He peered into Greg's bedroom. "Gregory...?

The light by the bed was on and Greg was sitting up reading the book of history that Mycroft had left nearby. "Welcome home." He looked up from the pages of the large book.

"How are you feeling?"

Greg smiled brightly at him. "Good, slept a bit...slept a bit more...Mrs. Hudson came over to bring me some food...then I slept a bit..." He shrugged. "The normal."

Mycroft gave him a small relieved smile. "Good. Sherlock is just at John's, he will return a bit later than usual. Shall I open the window a little to get a circulation of fresh air in? I heard from my colleagues that it is important to do so when taking care of someone sick. I will not let it open for too long."

"Alright. And I'm not sick," Greg insisted. "I'm just...tired. Weak, if you want to call it that." He crossed his arms over his chest in a huff, the book on his lap long since forgotten.

"The fresh air might benefit you, Gregory." Mycroft shrugged.

"Alright, alright." Greg said, "And then come back here for a cuddle. I missed you today."

Mycroft opened the window and left it slightly open. As he walked towards the bed, he untied his tie, slid his waistcoat smoothly off his shoulders and unclipped his suspenders. He sat on the unoccupied side of the bed he took last night, folded them all gently on the bedside table, took off his shoes and rolled up his sleeves. He slid into Greg's open arms and settled himself just so, that his nose was right by Greg's neck. He quietly inhaled Greg's smell a little and muttered, "And I, you."

Greg squeezed Mycroft tightly to him. "Can we just stay like this forever?" He asked. "It's not like we really need to eat or sleep anyway...Sleeping and eating is nice though...I like cuddling you more. We need to schedule more cuddling time. Move into my bedroom with me." He suggested.

Mycroft stilled. "I... W-we... should not." He looked to his hands. "I... Those nightmares, Gregory...they're still. There. Every night. It would disturb you too much and I would not be able to...stop them."

"And you don't think they disturb Sherlock?" Greg asked, rubbing up and down Myc's back. "At least if you're here I can comfort you. Maybe I can make them go away too, in time? It's worth a try, isn't it?" He kissed Mycroft's forehead gently.

"Sherlock, contrary to popular belief, can sleep through everything." Mycroft rolled his eyes. He felt Greg's arms slipping around his torso and he placed his arms right on top of Greg's. "I... You need rest. I will be giving you an unnecessary disruption."

"I think it's necessary." Greg said sternly. "You don't have to fight them off alone, Mycroft. You don't have to fight alone anymore."

Mycroft was quiet. He knew Greg would not relent, not when he is like this. He inhaled the now familiar musk of his soulmate and burrowed his head into Greg's neck before nodding very slightly. "The moment it is more disadvantageous for you, however, I will return to my old room."

"It never will be," Greg muttered. "Think of it this way," he said a little louder, "I'll sleep better. And! as an added bonus," he moved his hands back around and started tickling at Mycroft's sides.

Mycroft gasped, too trapped in their arrangement to escape Greg's hands. He shrunk into himself and away from Greg, his arms wrapped protectively around his torso, a mischievous smile flashing across his face before he launched an attack against Greg as revenge.

"No!" Greg wailed, squirming to get away while trying to keep up with his attack on Mycroft.

Mycroft struggled a little against Greg until he managed to hold both Greg's wrists with his hands. He quickly pulled them behind Greg's back and looked up, glowing in his victory.

Greg gave a shocked little huff at the move. He took the opportunity to scooch forward and kiss Mycroft on the lips softly.

Mycroft's heart skyrocketed and he instinctively pulled back just enough to look at Greg's face to scan him for any hints that the demon was playing him for a fool. There's none. He could feel his ears heat and he knew he must be blushing like some kind of... _virgin_ maiden. He looked into Greg's eyes and found sincerity in them.

Greg looked at Mycroft, "Okay?" He asked in a whisper, slowly inching towards Mycroft's lips again.

Mycroft swallowed, suddenly nervous. "Just...slowly, please. I've never..."

Greg gave him a slight nod and went in for another kiss, keeping it chaste. His lips lingered on Mycroft's for a little bit before Greg reluctantly pulled back.

Mycroft's hand quickly reached the back of Greg's neck and stopped Greg from pulling back too far. He tilted his head and pulled Greg in for another kiss.

Greg gave a surprised little moan. He smiled into the kiss and slowly reached up to cup the angel's face. Greg would be _pissed_ if Sherlock decided to come home at this exact second.

Mycroft adjusted his angle so that he was facing Greg and slid his other arm around Greg's neck as well. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest.

The demon decided to go for it and deepen the kiss ever so slightly. He pressed his mouth a little bit more forcefully to Myc's and sucked on his bottom lip. Nothing too extreme but he didn't know where the angel would cross the line.

Mycroft let out a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a moan. He pulled back after he felt he might be losing too much of his control and hid his face in Greg's neck.

 _There was the line_. Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft and started rubbing his back again.

Mycroft felt slightly over sensitive from the kiss and tried to control his uneven breaths.

Sherlock quickly opened the bedroom door and narrowed his eyes at the scene, then slowly closed the door.

Mycroft blushed. He was so distracted he didn't even realize that Sherlock's presence in the flat. He burrowed his embarrassment in Greg's neck, giving it a small kiss.

"Little bugger." He huffed, "Just wait until he and John get into a compromising position...."

Mycroft frowned and pulled back to see Greg at an arm's length. "What do you mean?"

"I'm going to open the door and then close it quickly again, just like he's done to us." Greg said. "Should learn to knock or something."

Mycroft let a small laugh. "I will let him know...for next time."

"I'm sure he does it just to be a little...." Greg decided not to finish that thought instead, burying his face in Mycroft's hair, grumbling.

Mycroft chuckled. He reciprocated by leaving a small kiss by Greg's collarbone.

"You know he does." Greg huffed. "He would be a great demon..."

"... Please don't wish for my brother's fall," Mycroft spoke quietly.

"I didn't mean it like that, Myc." Greg shook his head. "It was a compliment, honestly."

Mycroft wisely didn't say anything. He simply allowed himself to be content in Greg's arms while he can. "I should probably check on him."

Greg knew better than to argue with him so, with a sigh, he opened up his arms for Mycroft to escape.

Mycroft pulled back and slipped out of bed. Before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned over the bed and gave Greg a brief kiss before leaving the room.

Greg smiled after the angel. He felt absolutely giddy.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are getting all sorts of new chapters today because apparently, all these drafts I put up are backwards for the chapters they're SUPPOSED to be. Oh well. Here you are another chapter in Greg's recovery.

Mycroft walked into the living room to see Sherlock sitting rather morosely by the window. If he did not know Sherlock, he would have called the expression a lovelorn one. He went to make two cups of tea and placed one in front of the tern.

"Hello, Sherlock."

"Mycroft." Sherlock replied tersely.

"Is something the matter?" Mycroft frowned. "You seem distraught."

Sherlock finally turned to look at Mycroft and after a second or two of silence, he answered. "You're happy with him." It wasn't a question. "Why?"

Mycroft looked out the window, humming thoughtfully.

"At risk of making myself sound cliché - he makes me happy." he shrugged. "He is not like other demons - there's something different, I am now sure. He's sincere in his affections, and he truly wants to court me. I do not see a point in delaying the inevitable and denying the both of us happiness simply because I cannot open myself to the possibility of it. "

"He makes you happy." Sherlock nodded and looked back out the window. "Is that it? Is that how you know?"

"Yes. It is as simple as that." Mycroft sipped his tea. "Everyone deserves a chance to be happy, Sherlock. You as well."

"But you can be happy being with different people, people have...friends." Sherlock said, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at the street below. "How do you know this _type_ of happy is...for a romantic relationship?"

"I feel this... _pull_ ," Mycroft looked into his cup. "... It is like I inadvertently gravitate towards him. As if I want to cherish him and shower him with affection, more than I thought I could."

Sherlock looked at Mycroft quickly. " _Shower with affection_?" He made a face, not wanting to think of his brother and the demon like... _that_.

Mycroft gave Sherlock a look before schooling his expression into a neutral one. "Is it John?"

Sherlock quickly drew in a breath. "Why would you say that?"

"I have seen how you look at him." Mycroft softened his gaze. "It is him, isn't it?"

Sherlock looked away and said nothing.

"Look at me." Mycroft said firmly. "It is... alright, Sherlock, to admit that someone else makes you happy. To care for someone as much as they care for you. It is not a disadvantage. Think of the support you will receive, how they make you feel like you belong."

Sherlock barely could meet Mycroft's eyes. "...It's easy for you, you _know_ what he feels back. You know that you two are connected, that you're _supposed_ to be together. What if..."

"You deserve someone who would love you the same way - if not more - you love them. If that is not the case, then I would suggest you forget them and 'move on'... but I strongly think that is not the case. He cherishes you. Immensely."

"But he's so young...and human. What if what he feels is just because I'm...an angel?" Sherlock asked solemnly.

"I would not say you are the most charming person around, Sherlock." Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "You can be especially difficult, your remarks can be quite painfully blunt. But despite it all - he chooses to remain with you. He may feel you are slightly different from others, but ultimately he chooses to take everything that you are and stay."

Sherlock scoffed at his brother's answer. "I knew I shouldn't have asked you for advice on the matter. I would have gotten more use out of Geoff's answer."

Had Mycroft less muscle control than he did, he would have thrown his hands up and given up on Sherlock. As it was, he had impeccable control of all his limbs. But he knew that he has hit Sherlock's quota for him and could not help but be jealous of Greg for getting Sherlock's attention so easily, when he has tried for years and never succeeded once.

"Do what feels right, brother. Especially if it makes you happy," he turned and left to go back to Greg.

"You were down there awfully long." Greg said as Mycroft entered the room.

Mycroft placed his cup on the table and slid into Greg's arms wordlessly, burying his face into the other's neck.

He automatically wrapped his arms around the angel. "Everything alright?" He frowned, usually Mycroft was good with dealing with Sherlock's ...eccentricities.

Mycroft sighed almost imperceptibly. "He's having problems getting into terms with his feelings for John. I pushed a little too much and he lashed out."

"Oh." Greg paused. "Want me to talk to him? I can't promise I can make it down the stairs but I can yell down them for him to stop being a twat about it."

"I have half a mind to let him stew in his woes for now, to be honest."

"Let me guess, he acted like he didn't _want_ or _need_ your opinion?" Greg asked, kissing Mycroft's head with a chuckle. "He values your opinions, Mycroft, I promise you he does. Even if he doesn't act like it half the time."

"I must admit that I am not the most... 'fun' person to be around, but I hardly think I am the worst." Mycroft scoffed. "Sometimes I... Struggle to see where I've gone wrong."

"Because you haven't." Was all Greg said with a small shrug of his shoulders.

Mycroft pulled back from his hiding spot by Greg's neck and stared at him.

"You haven't gone wrong." Greg cocked his head to look at him. "Why do you think you have?" HIs eyebrows furrowed together, he didn't like Mycroft thinking so little of himself.

"Sherlock's behavior and apparent distaste for me, mostly." Mycroft shrugged.

"I guarantee you, if you look around at any other teenager with their...guardians, they'll be acting the same way. It's not that he doesn't like you Mycroft, he's here isn't he? Would he have come down from his cloud if he disliked you?"

Mycroft blinked. "I just assumed the rest of heaven was too boring for him."

"So he came here, specifically? And was made to go to school?" Greg gave him a look.

Mycroft pursed his lips. He couldn't think of a reply to that.

His eyes shone a little. "You... Truly are something, aren't you."

"What do you mean?" Greg asked, a surprised grin on his face. "You would have seen it too, if you weren't looking at it a different way."

Mycroft felt warmth bloom in his chest. He caressed the side of Greg's face and traced his jaw. "Of course you would be able to dispel one of my deepest worries in just one moment."

"You really thought Sherlock hated you? Oh Myc." Greg planted a kiss to the middle of Mycroft's forehead gently. "I doubt angels even _can_ hate."

"Sherlock is... well, _Sherlock_." Mycroft shrugged. He smiled a little and kissed Greg's cheek. "Thank you, Gregory."

"Any time gorgeous." Greg grinned and hugged Mycroft tighter to him.

Mycroft took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around Greg. He closed his eyes in contentment.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this actually came out as chapter 17...we skipped a few chapters. Oops?

"...And Mrs Smith was flabbergasted! Sherlock was absolutely brilliant, Father, it is as if he can read people--"

"That's wonderful, Johnny." His father nodded, only half listening to his son go on and on about his friend. They were sat at the dinner table after a long day.

"... and Mr Holmes is a lot quieter than Sherlock is but I know he's just as clever!" John puffed in pride for knowing the Holmes siblings well.

"Mr. Holmes." His father thought back to the day the two men entered the shop to retrieve Sherlock. "I don't want you going around visiting Sherlock's house anymore." He said suddenly, realizing the disgust that he felt when he saw the two men together in... _that_ way.

John pulled back as if he was physically slapped. "Wh- But why, Father?"

"I don't think Mr. Holmes and Mr. Lestrade are a good influence on you." The father said, taking a bite of his dinner. "You need to be around _good_ influences, _strong_ influences."

"But they are!" John protested. "Mr. Holmes is so smart, sir, and Mr. Lestrade is very kind," he looked down to his hands. "They're... They're just _friends_ , Father, nothing more than that."

"I don't think so, Johnny. I think there's more to it than meets the eye, regardless of how _smart and kind_ they are. It's not right. And I shudder to think that Sherlock boy growing up under that roof, and what it's done to him." He wiped his mouth with his napkin and placed it back on his lap. "I don't think I want you seeing him anymore either."

John felt like he was falling.

First it was his sister after she left. Now he has to stop talking to Sherlock...?

Half of him revolted at the idea, but the other half, who was always so eager to make his father proud, was persuading him to begrudgingly accept his father's command.

"Am I understood?" His father stared at him to confirm that John would _not_ talk to Sherlock again. He didn't want that sort of influence on his boy, who knows what kind of...awful things that would come of it.

John wanted to curl up and cry, to lash out and scream, to release his pent-up anger at his father's bigotry and shove everything off the table.

John wanted Sherlock to tell him that his father was wrong.

"Understood, sir."

"Good lad." HIs father nodded at him and continued to eat his dinner as though nothing major had happened.

 

Mycroft walked in after a long day at work to a wrecked living room. He blinked. "What is this-- _Sherlock!_ "

Sherlock was sitting in the middle of it all on the floor, his clothes were torn and the expression on his face was not a pleasant one.

Mycroft's first reaction was anger, but it flipped quickly into concern the moment he saw Sherlock. "What's wrong?"

Sherlock just huffed and curled in on himself, muttering something into his knees.

Mycroft hung his coat on the rack and placed his briefcase on the couch. He walked over to Sherlock and kneeled beside the teen. He tried again, voice softer this time. "What's wrong, Sherlock? ...Talk to me."

The teen sniffed. "John said his father told him to stop talking to me." He said, willing himself not to cry. "He said I wasn't a good influence...That you and Greg weren't a good influence."

Mycroft pulled Sherlock into his chest, his hand stroking the untamed curls in the same way he used to comfort the teen when he was younger. "Oh Sherlock... I am so sorry..."

Sherlock couldn't contain a sob as he clutched onto his brother.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Greg and Mrs. Hudson had just gotten back from a quick trip to the shops. The fresh air felt good in Greg's lungs after two days wallowing in bed. He climbed the stairs and stopped in the doorway, his face fell as he took in the scene. "What happened?" He quickly went to the two on the floor. "Did someone break in? Is everyone alright?"

"John's... Father told John to stop talking to Sherlock, citing us as bad influences on his person." Mycroft almost spat the words before focusing himself on Sherlock and making little soothing noises to help calm the teen.

Greg steeled his expression. "Well...we can't have that, can we." He turned around and started going back down the stairs.

Mycroft immediately let go and ran after the demon. "Gregory, _stop_ \-- Where are you going?!?" He had an idea what Greg might do, and no matter how much a part of him approved, he should _not_ do it.

Greg turned around, "Just going to have a talk with John's da is all." He moved closer to the angel and spoke quietly, "Let me do this, Mycroft. Please. For Sherlock."

Greg knew that Mycroft's soft spot was Sherlock. "We should not interfere, Gregory. John is powerless as a minor. He will not be able to survive on his own should his father disown him."

"It'll work out." Greg said after a moment of thought. He leaned over and kissed Mycroft. "I'll be back later, alright?" He gave the angel a cheeky grin and left.

 

About an hour later, Greg walked through the front door with John in tow. The living room look dramatically better and Sherlock was laying wistfully on the sofa.

John had a bag slung over his shoulder. He did not actually see what happened - he was told to go into his room. There was no screaming - he would have heard if there was, when his sister left there were a lot of it - Greg just opened the door and told him, "Pack your things. We're leaving." His look said that he would not tolerate any protests, so he only had time to grab the meagre amount of precious things he owned and a couple of clothes and necessities before they left the only place he had ever called home.

Sherlock perked up when John came through the door. "What are you doing here?" He asked, his eyes were still puffy and red from crying.

"Isn't it obvious?" Greg said nonchalantly. "You've got yourself a roommate, Sherlock."

John gripped his bag. He would not know what he would do if Sherlock rejected the idea and sent him away.

Sherlock sat up and his face broke out into a small smile. "Are you alright with staying here, John?"

Mycroft walked out of the kitchen with a tray of teapot and four cups of tea. "John, don't just stand there by the door. Please come in, sit." John wordlessly obliged. Mycroft set a cup of tea in his hands. He was still shaken from being suddenly uprooted from his home - the guilt, oh, the _guilt is starting to set in, Father would be so angry, he's all alone now, what had he done_ \- he was jolted back to reality when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"John," Mycroft was kneeling in front of him, and the rest of the room was staring at him. "You are welcome to stay, if you are alright with it. If not, I am sure we can make some...arrangements, given a bit of time."

John blinked at Mycroft. "I-I cannot possibly trouble you all like that."

"We would love to have you with us, but only if it makes you happy. We will not force you to stay."

John blinked some more. "A-are you sure?"

Mycroft nodded. John looked up at Sherlock and Greg - and both nodded, too.

"Um, t...then... I-I wanna stay. If that's not too much trouble-"

"Not at all, John." Greg said, waving off the teen's concern. "Wouldn't have brought you here if it was too much trouble."

"You're always welcome here John." Sherlock said quiet. He stood up and walked over to the other teen, pulling him into a tight hug.

Mycroft stood up and went to Greg's side. He leaned over and whispered a quiet 'thank you' before pressing a peck on a small part of Greg's cheek by his ear.

Greg smiled and shrugged. There was nothing he could say with John present, so he just kept quiet.

Sherlock pulled away, "I'll show you where to put your things. You'll have to share a room with me....if that's okay?"

John nodded and followed Sherlock to his room, leaving Greg and Mycroft in the living room. Mycroft handed Greg his tea and took his own cup. He raised an eyebrow at the demon.

Greg grinned and took a sip of the tea. "All John heard was me tell his father that there was a special place in hell for people like him. He didn't see anything...abnormal. His father sure did though." He chuckled and took another sip of tea, letting it warm him up. "Should we tell him up front about what we are or should we let him figure it out for himself? He's solidly involved now, he deserves to know why we're so...strange."

Mycroft sipped his tea. "Let him settle first. One shock at a time, Gregory."

Greg nodded. "Yeah, don't want him to die of shock or anything, Sherlock would be angry."

Mycroft smiled into his cup and simply enjoyed his tea until the teens came back down the stairs again.

"Made some apple pie before I left today." Greg said off handedly.

"Because we all know what happened to the last one." Sherlock said with a smile, glancing over at Mycroft.

Mycroft ignored Sherlock's jibe in favor of looking at Greg. He didn't want to say thank you in front of the teens - he's aware that the pie was not for him - but he figured he could express his appreciation for Greg's thoughtfulness later.


	22. Chapter 22

> _ Greg grinned and took a sip of the tea. "All John heard was me tell his father that there was a special place in hell for people like him. He didn't see anything...abnormal. His father sure did though." He chuckled and took another sip of tea, letting it warm him up. "Should we tell him up front about what we are or should we let him figure it out for himself? He's solidly involved now, he deserves to know why we're so...strange." _
> 
> _ Mycroft sipped his tea. "Let him settle first. One shock at a time, Gregory." _
> 
> _ Greg nodded. "Yeah, don't want him to die of shock or anything, Sherlock would be angry." _
> 
> _ Mycroft smiled into his cup and simply enjoyed his tea until the teens came back down the stairs again. _

"Sherlock, have you heard of a game called Snakes and Ladders?" John showed the box he's been holding.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the box. "No, let's play." He stalked off into the kitchen and started clearing the table. 

"Snakes and ladders...sounds...fun."  _ Fun _ wasn't exactly what Greg was going to say at first but he caught himself before he said his first thought.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at Greg but said nothing. John had gone to follow Sherlock, so they just followed suit.

Greg sat down beside Mycroft at the table. "So how do we play?" 

"Roll the dice, snakes goes down, ladders go up, it's easy enough for even you, Gordon." Sherlock said as John was setting up the game board.

"I thought you never played before." Greg frowned. 

"I haven't but fortunately I can read." He held up the back of the box.

Mycroft took the back of the box from Sherlock and hummed thoughtfully. Meanwhile, John placed four tokens on the square with a "1" on it. "The ladders represent good deeds, and the snakes represent bad ones. For example on this," he pointed to a square with a boy reading a book, "is a good thing, so the player gets to take the ladder and is then moved to a square where he graduates."

"So, in the case of this one," Mycroft pointed at a girl holding a stack of plates almost as tall as herself, "is connected to a snake, which means the player is moved downwards where her actions has a negative outcome in which she breaks the plates?" John nodded.

Greg scoffed. "Ladders can go down too." He said.

Mycroft glanced at Greg, amused at the other's reaction. 

John looked at Greg, mistaking the demon's comment as a misunderstanding. "It's the rules, Mr Lestrade - You go up if you're on a ladder, down if you're on a snake."

"Alright, alright." Greg said, "I'm just pointing out that ladders go up and down."

Sherlock snickered.

John took the dice. "Let's go with a clockwise order: Mr Holmes, Sherlock, me, then Mr Lestrade. Mr Holmes, here," Mycroft took the dice and rolled them. He took a maroon-colored token and moved it accordingly, landing on an plain square.

The first bend of the board game squares were all plain, so Sherlock reasoned that everyone had more than a good chance progressing this round. He took the dice and rolled. A plain square of course. He grabbed a blue piece and placed it on the correct square.

John rolled the dice and took a yellow token, making tiny tapping noises as he moved it to the correct square.

Greg grabbed up the dice and made a big gesture while throwing them, only to land on snake eyes. He frowned and moved the last remaining piece, a green piece, two squares.

The game went on. Mycroft would more often than not land on ladders, Sherlock a little less so and John would sometimes get caught by snakes.

Greg on the other hand, continuously got ladders, much to his chagrin. At first it was fine, it meant he was winning but as the game went on, he got less and less excited about ladders. He was winning yes, but at what cost? Each time he got ladders Sherlock snickered. Greg rolled the dice again, heading to yet another place where a ladder lead up to the next level. "Seriously?!"

Mycroft bit his lower lip to hide his smile and rolled the dice. He landed on a snake and watched Sherlock and John fixate themselves on the board before whispering, "See? You're good inside after all."

"That really hurts, Mycroft." Greg teased, although he was quite upset about getting ladders all the time. He was a demon after all, not a goodie two-shoes like the angels.

Mycroft shrugged. He watched John land on a square with a picture of a bawling girl and smiled at how he interacted with Sherlock.

"You three better get going or I'll be winning this game of morality." Greg declared, then looked back over at Mycroft. "Speaking of.  _ Corn Flakes _ ." He paused. "I was reading the papers the other day and I came across an advert. Care to explain Mycroft?"

Mycroft blinked. "I thought the advert was quite self explanatory, don't you think?" he gave Greg a knowing smile. "It was quite convincing, too, so I thought it was worth a try."

Greg narrowed his eyes at the angel. 

"Explain." Sherlock said, also narrowing his eyes at the two. 

"Yeah, Myc, explain." Greg crossed his arms over his chest and gave Mycroft a sassy look.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "The advert was quite thorough in saying that diet played a huge role in...certain urges, and that a bland diet would decrease excitability and reduce the urge to 'self-abuse' in people. I thought that was a noble idea to participate in."

Sherlock tilted his head to the side. " _ Self-abuse _ ?"

John blushed at the explanation. He stuttered. "U-um, Sherlock, t-that's another word for, you know.  _ That. _ " he made a vague motion towards the direction of upstairs, where their bedrooms are.

Sherlock blinked at John with a blank expression on his face. 

Greg looked between the two of them before exclaiming. "Sex. Sherlock. It has to do with sex."

"Oh, is that all?"

Mycroft leaned back in his seat and folded his hands on his lap. " _ Self _ -abuse, Sherlock. The name doesn't exactly dictate for two to tango."

"But how is a concoction of pressed corn meal meant to alleviate someone's urge to masturbate?" Sherlock asked calmly. "Furthermore, why would you need to explain the meaning of the breakfast cereal to....oh." He looked at Greg as if he had just discovered something awful... which he had. 

"Not that I have that problem." Greg explained, seeing Sherlock's expression.

"The blandness of the diet should have alleviated the urges, had it succeeded. I was merely intrigued with the idea and wanted to see if it worked." Mycroft shrugged nonchalantly.

"You didn't have to try it the very first day...we moved in." Greg said. "You jumped the gun a bit on that one, Mykie."

Mycroft gave Greg a look at the nickname. "You shocked me into a loss of what to do the very first day. And it was in our cupboard, I could hardly be blamed to put 'two and two together'."

John frowned. "... W-wait a moment. You  _ did  _ know each other before you moved in, right? Did someone just stock your  _ cupboard _ before you moved in?" he looked at Sherlock, "Is it Father Holmes who made you move? A-Are you part of nobility or  _ something _ ?" he whispered the last part.

Greg met Mycroft's look with a look of his own. "Yes." Greg answered John. "Father Holmes made us move. My da has been a little more accepting of us, and has come to visit, much to Mycroft's dislike." He gave a small smile. "Mrs. Hudson stocked the cupboards before we came, just so we could take a bit to get settled and not have to worry." 

"And I followed them here a few days after when I realized what happened." Sherlock nodded then turned to his brother and Greg. "Is that the story we're going with then?"

John frowned. His heart felt like it was falling again, the way it dropped. "The _ story _ you're going with? Sherlock?"

"Sherlock, we were going to  _ ease _ him into it." Greg sighed, bringing his hands up and rubbing his face. He placed his hands back on the table and started fiddling with the dice. "It's nothing bad, John. Honest." 

"Mycroft and I are angels and Grover here is a demon." Sherlock said simply.

John pulled back. "That... That's impossible. You're lying. Why are you lying to me? Oh God, this is kidnapping isn't it,  _ this _ is why Father told me not to--"

"John." Mycroft spoke softly, hiding his wince. "Please... calm down. We honestly, truly don't mean you harm, and...no, we're not lying."

John looked at Mycroft, his eyes alert. Mycroft could see the fear in his eyes.

Greg sighed and stood up, stepping away from the table before pulling his wings out of the ether. "See? Not lying."

"Y-wha--" John's eyes rolled back and he fell unconscious on to Sherlock. " _ Gregory _ !" Mycroft hissed. He immediately went to John's side, lifted him by the back of the knee and his back, and went to the living room.

"Oops." Greg said as he put his wings away. 

Sherlock glared at him. "Try not to do anything so  _ stupid _ in the future." He growled and followed Mycroft into the living room.


	23. Chapter 23

> _ Greg sighed and stood up, stepping away from the table before pulling his wings out of the ether. "See? Not lying." _
> 
> _ "Y-wha--" John's eyes rolled back and he fell unconscious on to Sherlock. " Gregory !" Mycroft hissed. He immediately went to John's side, lifted him by the back of the knee and his back, and went to the living room. _
> 
> _ "Oops." Greg said as he put his wings away.  _
> 
> _ Sherlock glared at him. "Try not to do anything so  stupid in the future." He growled and followed Mycroft into the living room. _

 

Mycroft placed John on the couch, propping his head up with a small cushion. The teen would be fine - it was just the shock that was too much in one go. After a few minutes, John mumbled awake.

Greg lingered by the kitchen entrance while the two angel's hovered over the human.

John slowly opened his eyes to see Sherlock kneeling by the couch and Mycroft standing by the other armrest. He blinked at them for a few moments. "Did I just lose consciousness?" 

"Yes." Mycroft folded his hands behind his back.

"...Did I dream about Mr. Lestrade having wings?"

"Are you going to faint again if we say no? Because if you are, then yes, that was a dream."

"So... It wasn't a dream."

Mycroft pursed his lips. John stared and asked, "How?"

"Demon..." Greg pointed to himself. "Angels." He pointed to the the other two. 

"Will you be alright, John?" Sherlock asked, looking at the human carefully.

"Why would a demon be living with two angels?" John blurted out suddenly. He realized that what he said was too forward and quickly covered his mouth.

Greg let out a laugh. "Mycroft and I  _ fell in love  _ and his father kicked us out." He grinned. "Isn't that right Mycroft?"

Mycroft sent a little glare to Greg over his shoulder. "It is nowhere as dramatic as that. It is a part of a peace treaty between heaven and hell, our cohabitation is supposed to show that angels and demons can, indeed, live in peace."

"And I'm here because Mycroft is my brother and I don't want him to have all the fun on Earth." Sherlock added. 

"Regardless, I'm no harm to you, if you were worried," Greg told John with a nod. "Maybe a bad influence but...can't really help that."

"We are also here to negate his bad influence." Mycroft added.

John blinked some more. He seemed to want to ask something, but wasn't sure about if it was polite to do so. He looked at Sherlock. "... Can...Can I see your wings?"

Mycroft quipped in. "Well, John, wings are very personal--"

Without a thought, Sherlock pulled his wings out of the ether. They were smaller than Greg's or Mycroft, and inky black to match his hair, although in the light they gave off a dark blue sheen. 

Greg scoffed. "They're so small!"

Sherlock shot the demon a glare over his shoulder. "Because I'm a cherub, you idiot."

John sat up slightly to lean closer towards Sherlock's wings. "Could I...touch them?"

Sherlock's eyes went wide. "Th....Sure-"

Greg coughed. "Best not to, they're very sensitive, if you know what I mean, John." He gave John a look then looked over at Mycroft. "Mycroft, come and help me cut the apple pie."

Mycroft looked incredibly relieved at Greg's diversion. He shot a look of warning at Sherlock and left to follow Greg to the kitchen. He moved the board game to the side to make space for the pie.

Greg got out the plates from the cupboard, a smile on his face. "I think that went well....except for the fainting bit. Who can blame him though, poor kid."

"We really could have eased him into it, instead of whipping your wings out like that," Mycroft huffed. "Which seems to need grooming in a couple of days, give or take a week or so--"

They suddenly heard a quiet moan from the living room.

Mycroft's face turned aghast.

Greg looked in the direction of the living room with his mouth agape. "Alright boys, Sherlock put your wings away and come and get some pie." He turned back to Mycroft before the boys came into the kitchen. "And you can groom my wings anytime you like, gorgeous." He winked at Mycroft.

Meanwhile, Mycroft was having his own mini meltdown, whispering to himself under his breath. "I need to delete  _ that _ \- he's technically still a  _ child _ , Gregory, that's practically pedophilia, oh dear Father I have failed-”

"Isn't he technically much much older than John? Unless you meant the other way around?" Greg narrowed his eyes, confused. "Let's just go off of their _ Earth ages, _ it's much better than whatever you're thinking of." He started to plate up the slices of apple pie, giving Mycroft a larger piece.

Mycroft focused on the apple pie.

_ Yes _ ,- he thought to himself as he heard twin choruses of 'thank you's' to Greg and his own thankful look-  _ that's an easier way to think about it. Although if we do use their Earth ages, then that might mean he has to...introduce certain ideas of human biology to both of them, specifically about puberty. _ Mycroft shudders. He'd make Greg do it, but he knew his counterpart would only encourage potentially sinful behavior.

They all sat down at the table to their apple pie, the board game abandoned. "Well, I think that was more than enough excitement for one day." Greg said, digging into his sweet treat.

They ate in amicable silence before John spoke. "Mr. Lestrade... if you're a demon, then why are you a copper?"

"Well." Greg swallowed the bite that was in his mouth before he continued. "Demon's aren't so much bad as....they like to see bad things done to bad people. We like to punish bad people and yeah we might push them a little to do those bad things but...ultimately, punishing people is what we do." He explained.

John seemed to calm down after that. He's never been too religious, but living with the personification of evil did make him a bit wary. Greg turned to say something to Mycroft and a glint on top of his head caught John's eye. "Mr. Lestrade...is...is that  _ grey _ hair?"

Greg made a face. "Yeah, Mycroft took me to church...it wasn't fun, I tell you that." He ran a hand through his hair, there was a bit more grey in it than when Mycroft first told him, but it had seemed to stop spreading. Greg was a bit relieved at that.

John 'ahh'-ed in understanding while Mycroft looked down at his plate more intensely.

"It was an educational experience." Sherlock chimed in.

John nodded. Mycroft took another bite and hums. "This is really good, Gregory. Thank you."

"Well you liked the first one so much...can't help tempting you." Greg grinned at the angel.

Mycroft tamped his blush when they heard a soft knock on the door. "Youhuu!" the familiar voice rang, and he went to get the door.

"Good evening, Mrs Hudson."

"Good evening to you too, Mr. Holmes! I have some urgent letters for you - I believe it may be related to work. And ooh, is that apple pie I smell?"

"Want a piece, Mrs. Hudson?" Greg called back, not wanting to get up.

"Ooh, yes, if you don't mind. I'd like to see if you have improved my original recipe since last time." Mrs. Hudson made her way into the kitchen. "And oh, who's this? We've got company!"

"My name is John Watson, ma'am," John immediately got to his feet and offered his hand out for a handshake. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, such manners too! What a lovely boy. I'm Mrs. Hudson, dear, I'm the landlady here," she smiled.

"John's going to be staying with us." Sherlock mentioned. "His father is awful so we took him in here....I hope that's okay?"

Meanwhile Greg stood and went to fix Mrs. Hudson a plate.

"Oh, you poor dear, I'm sorry to hear that. Of course you're welcome here." She put her hand on John's shoulder.

Greg placed the plate with a slice of pie and a fork at the end of the table and slid his own chair over so the old woman could sit down.

Mrs. Hudson took the seat offered. "Oh, what a lovely gentleman... if only I was 20 years younger..." she trailed off thoughtfully. 

Mycroft hid his surprise with a cough. John suddenly found his plate very interesting, and sneaked in some looks at Mrs Hudson while she's occupied. He wondered if she's also an angel...or a demon..

Mrs. Hudson took a small piece of the pie and bit into it. "Oh my, this is really good! Gregory my boy, you have a talent in baking after all!" she gushed, "Or I wonder if it's just the taste of love...?" she winked.

"A bit of both probably." Greg grinned back, taking the comment in stride. 

Sherlock made a face and pushed his plate with the last half of his pie away from him.

Mycroft just kept eating his slice when he noticed John's inquisitive looks at Mrs. Hudson. "Is there something you'd like to ask, John?"

John startled. "U-uh, n-no--well, um...." he stammered, "I don't know if it would be appropriate, or offensive--" he shot a glance at Sherlock - or more exactly, at the non-existent wings behind him - and looked down.

Mrs. Hudson smiled reassuringly. "Please do ask away, dear."

"Well...um....M-Mrs. Hudson... I  _ really _ do not mean to offend you, but-- are you an angel, or a demon?”

Mrs. Hudson answered with a smile. “I’m an anchor, my dear. A neutral.”

Greg widened his eyes in surprise that the old woman answered like that. He looked over at John, there was going to be a whole lot more questions out of the teen. “I think he’s had enough shock for one day...”

John tilted his head, but didn't say anything against Greg. He might just ask Sherlock - who's looking suspiciously thoughtful - later. Mycroft immediately recognized what Greg was doing and changed the topic. "Mrs. Hudson, have you ever heard of the game, 'Snakes and Ladders'? It's quite a fascinating game."

"Yes, I do remember playing that game when I was a little girl." Mrs. Hudson nodded with a smile. "A very moral game. Who's winning?" 

"I am." Greg said sadly. "I keep getting ladders."

Mrs Hudson placed her hand on her chest and smiled amusedly at the demon's whine.  "Oh, dear, it's not really something to be sad about, is it?"

Greg gave her a look.

Mrs Hudson smiled innocently back at Greg.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the gap in chapters recently! Life is horrible and gets in the way sometimes. Have a juicy chapter to compensate! Enjoy!

Mycroft was combing through the secondary feathers of Greg's wings, lit by a single lone bed lamp in their room.

It'd been a couple of weeks since John moved in and days resumed like it has always been. Transferring liability for John was not difficult, not when you had an angel to notice the cracks and convince them that it's for the better good. Mycroft felt like he was sinning, it felt dirty to use his grace like that - but he had no choice. There was no way Greg could take another day off and the changes had to be in effect immediately.

There would be days when Mycroft would be sitting in the living room, reading some policy proposals, his heart twisting at John's sadness over losing his father. He could only extend a thread of his grace to help Sherlock's efforts to alleviate John's sadness, knowing that when the boy needed him, he would come on his own.

Greg sucked in a breath as Mycroft combed his fingers through his feathers. He knew that there was something on the angel's mind, and he wish there wasn't because the bed was _right there_ and so much good could come out of that.

Mycroft trailed his fingers along a knot and tugged the center absentmindedly.

Greg shivered slightly at the feeling. "Something on your mind?" He asked, his voice unsteady.

Mycroft hummed. "Just... John." He combed his fingers through some of the primaries. "His sadness over his losses...I don't know what to do."

"Humans are particularly hardy. Give him some time and he'll get over it." Greg said. "Be there for him until then, of course but...it's something he has to get over on his own. It's better for him here, and I know he sees that." He looked over his shoulder at Mycroft. "Don't let it eat at you, it won't do you any good either....You've been using your grace again, haven't you?"

Mycroft moved on to the upper set of feathers. "I had no choice. His sadness was...affecting me," he paused his fingers. "It's a lot of loss for someone so young."

"It's not like his father's dead or anything." Greg said. "He...didn't die did he?"

"...Alcoholism. But John doesn't know that."

"Well I wouldn't tell him." Greg said, "That'll just bring him more pain." He ruffled his wings a little bit. "Best thing to do is to help him forget about it. I think Sherlock's helping with that. Just think how much worse it would be if it were the other way around? Losing something that he didn't even know he had. Let me handle it for awhile, hm? Don't use your grace anymore on it. Not for a while at least."

Mycroft ran his fingers through the feathers before pressing a soft kiss on the edge of one of them. "Okay," he whispered.

Greg shivered again. "Good, now pay attention to me." He looked over his shoulder again with a cocky grin.

Mycroft flicked at Greg's shoulder playfully, his lips turning into a small smile. "Your wings aren't so bad, maybe I should just let them be for a longer period of time, next time."

"You want to see me in pain?" Greg cocked an eyebrow at him. "I see how it is."

"A little bit of pain never hurts anybody," Mycroft hummed.

"Color me surprised, angel." Greg turned his body and looked at him. He looked at him up and down with a less than subtle smirk.

Mycroft tilted his head slightly at Greg. "What are you looking at me for?"

The demon scooted closer to Mycroft on the bed, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "I just figure, if we're done with my wings....we can spend the time doing _other things_ on the bed."

Mycroft touched his forehead to Greg's and whispered, "And what... _other things_ do you propose we do?"

Greg gave him a wide grin. "Well, why don't I show you?" He pulled his wings back in, so they weren't in the way, and cupped Mycroft's face. He pressed another soft kiss to the angel's lips, not wanting to go too fast and scare Mycroft.

Mycroft kissed back and pressed himself closer to Greg, inviting the other to deepen their kiss as his hands trailed up to the top of Greg's shirt and slowly opened buttons on their way back down.

He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, starting to press Mycroft back towards the bed as he did so. Greg nipped at Mycroft's bottom lip playfully, then soothed the spot with his tongue.

Mycroft opened his lips and suddenly circled Greg's tongue with his own, pulling them into a fight of dominance. His hands slipped underneath Greg's open shirt and settled on his back.

Greg groaned pressing himself on top of the angel. One hand trailed down from Mycroft's cheek and started working to undo the buttons of the other man's shirt. He wanted as much skin showing as possible as soon as possible, considering that Mycroft could stop this at any second.

Mycroft moaned into the kiss as Gregory's actions forced his hands back, his shirt slipped his shoulders to show an expanse of freckled skin.

Greg kissed down to Mycroft's neck. "Look at you." He said, lightly sucking a spot just below where the collar of Myc's shirt would cover. "Gorgeous."

Mycroft gasped and tipped his head back to give Greg more access, subtly pulling the back of Greg's neck closer to ask for more.

"What would people say," Greg asked between kisses to Mycroft's long neck, "If you came into work with your neck all marked up, hm?" He nipped at a bit of skin to prove his point.

"I trust that you will keep them under the collar," Mycroft rasped. His hand left Greg's neck to run through the other's hair and _tugged._

Greg let out a loud moan at the tug, working more furiously down Mycroft's neck to his collarbone, kissing every freckle he could find.

Mycroft pulled both of them back a little more comfortably against the pillows, his legs on either side of Greg. He let out tiny gasps and moans as Greg kissed his way down his chest. His right hand remained in Greg's hair as leverage over the other while his left sought after Greg's, wanting one as an anchor to hold onto.

Greg hummed and let Mycroft latch onto his hand, he could just coo at how sweet it was, but the demon didn't think that Mycroft would like that very much. Opening up the other's shirt more, Greg found his way down to a pink nipple.

Mycroft arched his back and let out a broken moan as soon as Greg's tongue swept across his nipple. "G- _Gregory_ -..."

Greg liked that sound. A lot. He decided that he wanted to hear more of it. He flicked the nipple in his mouth with his tongue, then scraped very lightly with his teeth to see the effect on the angel.

Mycroft hissed at the pain, but was intrigued by the spike of pleasure he also felt. He pushed back Greg's shirt to have them completely off. He wanted to touch Greg's warm skin and nothing could be in his way.

Greg struggled out of his shirt, wanting to keep contact with Mycroft just in case he had sudden second thoughts. He moved to the other nipple to give it the same treatment as the first.

Mycroft moaned Greg's name again and tugged the demon's hair, trying to get his attention. His mouth felt lonely and he wanted to rectify that.

The demon growled softly but moved up Mycroft's body to capture his mouth with his own again.

Mycroft tilted his head to reciprocate the kiss deeply, his tongue exploring Greg's teeth while his free hand drifted to Greg's back. He felt a strong curious desire to feel Greg's warmth press against him fully and moaned into the kiss.

As if knowing what Myc wanted, Greg pressed his body against him as they kissed. He moaned at the feeling. He wanted _more_. The demon moved his free hand down to Mycroft's trousers.

Mycroft's free hand automatically gripped Greg's wrist loosely. He pulled back reluctantly and stared at Greg's eyes, pupils so dilated with arousal that he could barely see the iris. "I-I've never..."

"Well never have I." Greg said matter-of-factly then smiled. "It'll all be great, I promise." He paused. "Do you want this? Right now? We can go back to what we were doing...no need to go past the hips."

Mycroft blushed at what he was going to say. "W-we could... But maybe no penetration yet, if that's okay with you," he whispered the last part by Greg's ear. "My research told me I might want to prepare myself gradually for that."

Greg's eyes went wide. "Research? Why didn't you invite me?" He was shocked and awed at the angel. He did research for _this_? "What kind of research?" He gave a cheeky grin.

"I'm not telling you." Mycroft blushed even harder. "I merely wanted to...know what was involved. It proved itself to be very...useful."

"I'm slightly angry that you didn't ask me along for...whatever you did." Greg winked at the angel. "Besides, who says I didn't want to bottom?" The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about them too much.

Mycroft drew in a shaky breath. The idea of him inside Greg, sliding into what must be so _tight_ \- his arousal grew even harder and he groaned. He pulled Greg into a rough kiss and murmured, "I would love to, Gregory, but I think I want you in me first."

Greg gave a little laugh and kissed Mycroft again. "Alright, I won't complain then....Let's take our trousers off, I want to see you...please?" He bit his bottom lip and gave what both heaven and hell would call the first instance of puppy-dog eyes ever.

Mycroft bit his lip, a little unsure. "Could we...keep them on maybe?" He leaned forward to kiss and suck lightly at the base of Greg's neck as his hands sneakily made their way to the front of his trousers and unzipped it slowly, hand brushing against Greg's cloth-covered cock.

Greg groaned at the touch and had to stop himself from saying anything blasphemic. He quickly scrambled to undo Mycroft's pants, struggling a little with the buttons in his hurried state.

Mycroft's fingers trailed up the hot length over his pants, feeling the dark wet spot by the top of his cock. In a strike of courage, he pulled to release Greg's cock out of its confinement, his tongue wetting his lips quickly when he saw how well-endowed Greg is.

The demon moaned softly, when Mycroft took him out of his pants. The angel's touch just felt so good. Greg tried to occupy himself with running the tips of his fingers up Mycroft's cock, still securely confined in his pants.

Mycroft's attention was fixated on Greg's cock. The head is so red - with a tinge of purple, maybe, but it's rather hard to see in this dim light - and angry looking, like it's been waiting for far too long. He trailed the tip of his fingertips down a particular vein on the underside of his cock, feeling the thick girth. Greg's cock was big, he thought, not insanely so but definitely beyond the average measurements he had found. The thought of having it fill him up made him groan and pull Greg into another rough kiss.

Greg moaned roughly, both at the kiss and Mycroft's touch. He was panting heavily now, it felt so good. "Don't stop." He pressed a few quick kisses to the other's lips. "Please don't stop." He placed his palm on Mycroft's cock, feeling the warmth through the fabric.

Greg's moan bolted down Mycroft's spine and he shivered from the pleasure. At Greg's pleading - and his curiosity, honestly- his hand continues exploring Greg's cock, tracing the bottom of its head and wrapping his palm around it to see if his fingertips would touch. It doesn't.

With a whimper, Greg started stroking Mycroft's cock in his pants, wanting the angel to feel just as good as he was feeling. He started to kiss Mycroft's neck again to keep his mouth occupied. He had to stop himself more than once from saying something blasphemous, and that would completely sour the mood for the angel.

Mycroft gasped at the feeling of Greg's gentle but firm strokes against his cock, the movement heightened by the feel of the fabric sliding against his length. He leaned back to allow Greg access, split between the pleasure he's getting from Greg's strokes and getting himself to focus enough to continue his ministrations on the demon's cock.

Greg panted into Mycroft's neck. It all felt too good, it was like his body was....He lowered his body just slightly so their cocks could rub together, because if their hands felt that good, then their cocks rubbing together would be great. And he was right, Greg whimpered when they first made contact.

Mycroft closed his eyes at the sharp spike of pleasure he felt from the contact. His hand hesitantly reached to where they were rubbing against each other and wrapped around both of them, his palm a slightly cooler reprieve compared to how hot both their cocks are.

"F-Fuck. Myc. Je...." Greg stuttered as Mycroft wrapped his hand around both of them. He let himself buck his hips slightly, moaning at the sensation.

Mycroft bit his lip harder to keep his groans from slipping out. He didn't want to remind Greg that it was _him_ in bed with Greg - he quietly catalogued what the demon seemed to really like instead. He felt something building up in him with every downstroke, his heartbeat soaring like it has never been. He let out a little confused whine at the feeling.

Greg buried his face in the crook of Mycroft's neck. "Yes, let me hear you." He moaned. "Sound so sexy, Myc."

Mycroft could feel a hint of copper in his mouth from how much he'd been biting his lips, but he could barely notice anything - not his hand stroking them together faster, not the noises he's starting to slip out - when all his nerve endings seemed to light up with the pleasure, heat soaring higher and higher until he couldn't _think_ anymore and it was too much, it was too--

"Aah, G- _Gregory_ , I'm going-- to- please--"

At the exact moment, Greg was feeling the same thing, the same pressure building up inside him. It was like he had jumped off a cliff, but instead a heart pounding moment where he was sure he was going to fall, he was _flying_. "Myccc!" He moaned as they both came together, their spunk mingling on their bare stomachs.

Mycroft's mind blanked completely when he came and slowly returned as he blinked at the mess on their stomachs. His heart felt like it's been running miles, and he tries to keep his pants as quietly as possible. He touched a bit of the liquid on their stomachs, curious of how it feels. He scooped a little with his finger and brought it to his lips. A bit salty, with a slight tinge of bitterness - but there's no particularly repulsive taste.

Greg laughed a little, panting still, and looked down at Mycroft. "Wow." Was all he said. Then, after a second thought, added, "Let's do that again."

Mycroft let out a little chuckle of his own, looking up to see how sincere Greg was. "... Yes."

He rolled over so he was side by side with Mycroft and tucked himself back into his pants. "Cuddle first, then we can have a repeat performance." Greg wrapped his arms around the angel. "Did you like it? Was it good?"

Mycroft barked a laugh. "I don't know if my heart can take a repeat performance in one night," he sat up to reach for the handkerchief he kept in his trousers' pockets. During his research they told him to clean up right after - or it might get crusty and harder to clean. He wiped both their chests and put the now soggy fabric on the bedside table. "It was good, of course. I... really liked it. Did you?”

"'Course I did. Didn't you hear me?" Greg gave a smile. "I didn't hear you though...or are angel's just quiet when it comes to that sort of thing?"

Mycroft blushed. "I...wouldn't know," he hid his face in the base of Greg's neck. "And I...kept myself quiet."

"Why? I wanted to hear you. I bet you would have sounded real pretty." Greg said, kissing Mycroft's head and pulling him tighter to him.

Mycroft mumbled his response into Greg's chest.

"What was that?"

"... Didn't want to remind you t'was me."

"What? Why would I need reminding it was you? You were right there, I was _focused on you_ among other things." Greg said with a frown. "Why wouldn't I want you there?"

Mycroft buried his face deeper. "It's...nothing. Nevermind it, Gregory."

"No, I wanna know. Please, Myc?"

Mycroft swallowed. "You know how Sherlock mocked my looks before...?" Greg nodded. "Well, try repeating that for centuries, from multiple sources all around you. Makes you certain that _this_ , having someone who wants _me_ is...well, _too good to be true_... I didn't want to break that." he whispered. "I apologize. You shouldn't have to deal with this. No matter."

"It's not too good to be true. I'm here for you, you're my soulmate, I don't want anyone else. And I think you're _gorgeous._ " He kissed Mycroft's head. "And _wonderful_." Another kiss. "And _amazing_." Kiss. "And _beautiful_. Should I continue? Do you have a couple of hours?"

Mycroft's blush deepened with each kiss. "You're delusional," he chuckled in amusement. "And _you're_ amazing."

"Nah, not delusional." Greg grinned, snuggling closer to Mycroft.

Mycroft pulled the blankets over their bottom half, pressed a soft kiss to Greg's collarbone and wrapped his arms around the other.


End file.
